


His Beating Heart

by Lownly



Series: Like A Drum [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, False Declarations of 'No Homo', Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Homophobic Slurs, House Party, Humor, Implied Reincarnation/Past Life, M/M, Mild Language, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking, friendship that turns into gay feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:49:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 88,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lownly/pseuds/Lownly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jean is a grumpy loser and struggles to get through his first year of college, his three suitemates being about 92% of his struggle. He's got awful chronic nightmares, is emotionally disconnected, and he constantly feels like someone is watching him every time he goes to Astronomy. The usual college problems, yeah....? Yeah. But hey, that freckled guy in the row behind him looks familiar. Are they friends? Maybe they will be soon. Maybe they will be <i>more</i> than friends.<br/>Just another unoriginal college AU filled to the brim with silly shenanigans, cute dorks, and soul-crushing angst.<br/>The story of how Marco Bodt offered up his beating heart to Jean Kirschtein.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Art of Being Observed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean gets creeped on.
> 
>  
> 
> [Click here for Marco's POV!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/991568/chapters/1957412)

_When life leaves you high and dry_  
 _I'll be at your door tonight_  
 _If you need help, if you need help._  
 _I'll shut down the city lights,_  
 _I'll lie, cheat, I'll beg and bribe_  
 _To make you well, to make you well._  
  
 _When enemies are at your door_  
 _I'll carry you away from war_  
 _If you need help, if you need help._  
 _Your hope dangling by a string_  
 _I'll share in your suffering_  
 _To make you well, to make you well._  
  
 _Give me reasons to believe_  
 _That you would do the same for me.  
_  
-Phillip Phillips ( _Gone, Gone, Gone)  
_

* * *

  
  
  
I don’t even know how to begin this.  
There’s no proper way to start.  
But for us, this is the most important story. These are the best pieces of our lives, right here, in this story. It’s the story of how I became so pathetically wrapped up in the greatest person I’ll ever meet, someone so precious to me, it hurts.  
And this will sound ridiculous- make fun of me for it, I dare you- but…  
This? This is the story of how Marco Bodt offered up his beating heart… to me. 

* * *

  
                I suppose that that the best way to start this- the _only_ way to start this- is at the beginning. The beginning is pretty laughable, if you ask me. I don’t even consider it to be the beginning, but _he_ does, and that’s all that matters.  
I was a newbie at Trost University, a freshman. It was bright and early on Monday morning, the August mugginess just barely starting to set in, but despite the humidity, I still had a burning hot cup of coffee in one hand. Because really, you don’t want to run into me before I’ve had my coffee. And unfortunately for _someone_ , they did just that. Ran right fucking into me before I had my coffee.  
This guy was just shuffling along, pieces of paper in both his hands, not even looking where he was going, when he slammed headlong into me- right into the shoulder that was connected to the arm that was connected to the hand that held my coffee. Of vital importance, you see.  
“Shit!” I hissed. I glowered up at him, taking in his appearance: tall, but not that much taller than me. Broad-shouldered, freckles, square jaw, and dark short hair that was parted at the center. His eyes were dark too, but at the moment, they were wide with anxiety. “Watch it!” I grumbled, rubbing at my shoulder with my free hand. He let out a small and squeaky apology, which was kinda funny coming from someone as tall and intimidating as him, but I was too irritable to laugh.  
I’d growled a low, “whatever” and continued on my way, and that…. was that. Not a real beginning, you see. I didn’t even spare the guy a second thought.  
  
The rest of my week was crazy. I was living in Maria, one of the more expensive set of dorms, and as a consequence, lived in a suite with three others. It was originally two others: a short, almost-bald guy named Connie, and a large, muscled blond guy named Reiner.  
  
Since there were only three of us, one of us was going to get our own room to ourselves (suites were comprised of two separate rooms combined with a kitchen area and sitting area). I’d intended for that person to be me. But, as it turns out, Reiner had a boyfriend, a tall, lanky, nervous-looking guy with shaggy brown hair. Bertholdt was his name. Bertholdt wasn’t even supposed to be there, but it seems he transferred out from some other dorm. So of course, Reiner and Bertholdt got their room together and Connie got lumped with me.  
  
As far as roommates go, Connie was alright, and he could be pretty funny if you gave him a chance, but he also had a tendency to be a bit annoying at times. Not to mention that he never cleaned up after himself. But that wasn’t the horrible part.  
This was:  
 _The walls between our room and Reiner’s room were extremely thin_.  
  
Unfortunately for Connie and I, the two of them were loud, and when I say “loud”, I mean _LOUD_. I had my ipod’s volume up as loud as it could go with my earphones in and I could _still_ hear them. And the way it sounded, you’d think they wouldn’t have a single piece of furniture left in one piece, yet each and every morning there everything was: complete and whole.  
Needless to say, the two’s overly-active sex life spelled doom for me and Connie’s sleep schedules.  
   
As another complication, since the four of us were in the same suite, we shared a bathroom together, and you’d think that with all of us being guys, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. Well, as it were, mornings were hell. Connie took fucking _hours_ to shower, and Reiner had some sort of weird deal with his bowel movements and took a long time on the toilet- I didn’t wanna know, I didn’t wanna ask.  
  
And that’s how the next several weeks went on. Struggling to sleep and shower and use the bathroom with my three roommates, and looking back, it wasn’t _all_ bad… but in comparison to who I’d meet in the near future, they didn’t even compare.  
  
As the month went on, I became incredibly bored and fell into routine. I didn’t go out much, I didn’t join any clubs, I didn’t join a fraternity and I sure as hell didn’t become involved with any campus ministries. I had trouble getting along with others anyway, so I was perfectly fine being left to my own devices. I mostly spent my time studying and sleeping, and the rest was spent eating, in class or working around my roommates.  
  
I think one of the worst things in the world was that I felt so lonely, and yet I lived with three other guys. But I just didn’t feel like I could talk to them much. I felt that I couldn’t connect much with anyone…  
In truth, I’d floated through most of my life, feeling as though I was walking around on a different plane from everyone else… that everyone was on FM while I was on AM. And who the hell can “connect” with a guy who lives on a completely different medium from everyone else?  
I chose to drown out that feeling with sleep and school. It wasn’t all that effective, but I didn’t know what else to do.  
But sleep only brought more problems…. Problems I wasn’t willing to share with others.  
Once I’d grown past the age of 9, I stopped telling my parents about the nightmares, but that didn’t mean I stopped having them. Awful nightmares… they too left me with strange feelings. Feelings of emptiness, despair, and above all else, an intense feeling of loss. But what I had lost, I had no clue.  
  
And speaking of strange feelings, let me tell you about astronomy.  
I had this class four days a week, Monday through Thursday, and creepily enough, each time I had that damn class, I got this weird chill…  
It was strange, but, I felt like _someone was watching me._  
I peeked around behind me several times, but every time, I couldn’t detect anything out of the ordinary; just a bunch of college students taking notes or sleeping or on their phones or playing around on their laptops.  
I wouldn’t figure out where that feeling came from, or why I got it, for some time after that.  
  
Anyway, let’s move on. I’ve dragged on about my life pre-Marco for some time now.  
I think it’s time we get to what I like to call, “The Real Beginning.”  


* * *

  
  
As any college student could tell you, the flu spreads fast at university. Almost no one is left unscathed in its wake. So of course, it figures that in the first week of October, the awful illness rendered my body useless for the better part of a weekend and two days of classes. I spent those days rolled up in my blankets, shaking uncontrollably, and during that time, I was extremely thankful for Reiner; he made me plenty of soup and made sure I took my medicine. He was a better mom than my own mom was.  
  
However, after having missed class on both Monday and Tuesday, I decided that enough was enough, and braved the cruel world outside while still in a debilitated state.  
Let me just say: Astronomy was _awful_. I was confused as fuck, my eyes kept watering up, my sneezes and coughs were disgusting as shit, and I was still getting that really creepy feeling that someone was watching me.  
Mid-lecture, I decided to forget about taking notes for now and borrow someone’s notes from the last few days later. I knew that Connie was in the room somewhere, but I also knew _very well_ that he didn’t take notes. And when he did, they were shitty as hell. Connie would be no help.  
As the lecture neared its end, I craned my neck around to look behind me searching desperately for anyone I knew that might be able to help, and…. Well. I couldn’t explain it.  
When my eyes fell on the guy in the row behind me, two seats to the right, I felt an overwhelming sense of familiarity coming off him. A warm feeling spread throughout my chest, and I knew, I _knew_ that I had met this guy before.  
I also realized that this was the same guy who’d bumped into me on the first day of class, but that didn’t matter, because I knew him from somewhere else.  
  
But who the fuck was he? I couldn’t even remember his name. Did I know his name? How did I even know him in the first place?  
This guy was driving me absolutely crazy.  
 _But hey- if you know who this dude is, you can at least see his notes, right?_  
That was the more pressing issue at hand, so I focused on that instead.  
  
As soon as the lecture ended, I shoved my things into my bag, slid my arms through the straps and stood up, facing the row behind me. I let the other students pass me by as I watched the freckled guy stick his notebook and pen into his bag.  And then he looked up. And froze.  
We stared at each other for a couple of moments, and the longer I stared at him, the stronger the sense of familiarity became, and I couldn’t help it, I just _had_ to ask.  
“Do I know you from somewhere?”  
  
He visibly tensed up- his shoulders tightened, eyes went wide… I don’t even think he was _breathing_. But then he sat up, smiling innocently at me as though nothing was wrong, and said, “Eh, yeah, sort of… I bumped into you on the first day of classes.” He was also avoiding eye contact with me, I might add.  
  
“No, I mean before that,” I said, clearing my throat and sniffling a bit.  
He hesitated again, this time a look of confusion and concern- _god_ , this guy was an open book- and said, “I’m afraid not…”  
  
I squinted at him again, still trying to figure out how I knew this guy (and I _knew_ I knew this guy), but in the end, I just gave up on it. My memory was fucked.  
“Sorry, then,” I apologized. “You just seem really familiar.”  
“Oh, no problem! That kind of thing happens to me all the time,” he said, and it made me feel a bit better.  
I sneezed right then, and feeling more than a little self-conscious, rubbed at my nose, looking down. “I was kinda hopin’ we’d already met… that way it wouldn’t be so weird of me to ask if I can maybe see your notes from the past two days.”  
  
When I looked over at him, he blinked owlishly at me, and I felt sort of stupid, but then he chuckled and murmured, “If that’s all, then sure, you can borrow them.”  
I blinked right back at him. “Really? You don’t even know me…” If I were him, I wouldn’t just hand off my notes to any ol’ weirdo who claimed he knew me from somewhere and wanted to see them. I’d be a hell of a lot more skeptical than _this_ guy and _he’d already pulled his notebook back out of his bag, holy shit who does this?_  
“Do I have to?” he asked.  
 _Who the hell is that nice?_ I thought.  
“…Are you just that nice of a person?” I said back.  
“I try to be.”  
I couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at him. “You seem like a push-over.”  
“Gee, thanks,” he said, voice coated thick with sarcasm. “That _really_ makes me want to let you see my notes.”  
“Ah! Hey now,” I told him, “I’m just calling it like I see it.”  
“Uh-huh”, he muttered, flipping through his notebook. And then he paused.  
  
 _Aw shit, he’s having second thoughts_ , I thought, a feeling of dread washing through me. So maybe he had common sense after all. Good for him, bad for me.  
  
“What is it?” I asked.  
“It’s just… eurgh. There’s a bunch in here that needs a lot of explaining…” he looked up at me, and asked, “When do you have class next?”  
“I don’t have another class until 2:30.”  
He frowned back down at his notebook, large brown eyes tightening a bit, before saying, “Got any plans for lunch?”  
  
 _Wow, never mind, he’s not just nice, he’s super nice. This is the kind of overcomplicated selfless accommodation that I could never bring myself to understand, let alone feel nice enough to emulate it.  
_ Instead of saying all that, I just grinned and stuck with, “You really like to go all out, yeah?”  
  
“You want me to show you my notes, or not?” he huffed, almost as though he was trying to seem annoyed, but his tiny smile gave him away.  
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, and started making my way through the chairs, leaving the now-completely-empty lecture hall.  
The freckled guy picked up his bag and followed me out, and as we walked along, I realized that I _still_ didn’t know the kid’s fucking name.  
Once outside the room, I turned to ask him. “What’s your name, by the way?”  
“Oh, yeah… I’m Marco. What about you?”  
 _Marco_. Another warm feeling spread through my chest.  
“My name’s Jean,” I answered.  
“Jsh-ahn,” he repeated, and something about the way he said my name made something in my chest ache. And I got the feeling that wherever I knew this guy from, something bad was connotated with it. “French?” he asked.  
….at the same time, I really liked it when he said my name. Some people pronounced my name as “John,” the ‘j’ far too harsh, and some, particularly teachers attempting to read roll call, called me “Jeen”, and that was annoying as fuck, but when Marco said it… it was nice.  
I wanted him to say it again, as weird as that sounds.  
It brought an inexplicable feeling of comfort with it.  
  
“Yeah…” I said, finally answering. “A-anyway, where do you wanna eat? I usually just go to one of the dining halls for lunch.”  
“Me too,” he said softly. “Guess it’s decided, huh?” He tossed me his black notebook and walked on ahead, and I followed him out of the building into the blinding sunlight.  
There was a fuck ton of people out there, and I was incredibly grateful that Marco was so tall and broad, or else I’d have gotten lost completely. When we had finally reached a less busy part of the campus, I took the opportunity to paw through Marco’s notebook and quickly located Monday’s notes.  
And let me tell you: I felt like I was trying to read Latin.  
Except not Latin, but Greek. Literally.  
“The fuck is with the Greek letters?” I wondered aloud.  
“There’s a key and some formulas in the top right corner,” he told me, but I didn’t look up at him. I just kept staring at his notes.  
  
The key sort of helped… but it also didn’t. I was lost, man.  
“You weren’t fucking kidding… I still don’t understand,” I said more to myself than to Marco.  
He replied with, “Told you.”  
  
I was still immersed in Greek alphabet and numbers and Marco’s handwriting when I heard, “Hey! Jean, this way!”  
I looked up to see Marco further behind me, and that he’d taken a left without me noticing. I shouldn’t have been as embarrassed as I was, but still…  
I awkwardly slipped the notebook under my arm and followed Marco more closely.  


* * *

  
“…and remember, you need to find the change in wavelength first.”  
“And that’s delta lambda?”  
“Yep!”  
I scowled down at my paper as I quickly jotted down the equation, tapping away at my calculator as I attempted to decipher the strange symbols and formulas.  
“Oh, wait,” Marco piped up, correcting me, “once you find the radial velocity, you divide it by the speed of light, remember?” He leaned across the table between us to jab his finger at his notes, and I concentrated on where he was pointing.  
“That’s the _c_ in the formula…” I observed.  
“Yeah! Aaaannd… you’re done!” He smiled over at me encouragingly, and the warm feeling seemed to only grow warmer. I hoped I’d get to see him smile like that more.  
Looking away, I sat back and rubbed at my temple. “Radial velocity is shit,” I grumbled, and he laughed- it was a warm laugh that came up from deep within his chest, and it actually made me smile and feel proud of myself.  
“You’re telling me,” he agreed.  
  
I had really doubted Marco’s sincerity and intelligence before, and I was starting to feel pretty bad about that…. I really liked Marco, strange senses of warmth and familiarity aside. We got along. We got along _really well_ , so much better than I got along with most.  
  
I sighed, and decided that he at least deserved to know how much his help was appreciated.  
  
“Hey Marco.”  
“Hmm?”  
“Thanks… I’d be completely screwed without your help.”  
“No problem,” he said, and I absentmindedly brought out my phone to take a few photos of his notes for later.  
“It’s just that…” he began, but then his voice trailed off, so I encouraged him to continue.  
“What?” I shoved my phone back into my pocket.  
“You could have stood to miss another day of class. You’re sick as a dog,” he said.  
And with perfect timing, the flu decided that it would be just the right time to try and kill me… with _coughs_.  
  
I coughed for two straight minutes until Marco finally ran off and got me another glass of water, bless him, and at that point in my coughing fit, I was only seconds away from death, and he was Jesus to me…. Freckled Jesus. I sucked that shit down like my life depended on it-which, at that moment, it felt like it did.  
“Uh-uh,” I finally managed. “I can’t miss any more classes. I’ve had plenty of recovery time. I’m lost enough after just two days!”  
He cocked his head at me inquisitively, and realizing what he was getting at, I quickly corrected myself.  
“ _Was_ lost after just two days.”  
“Okay, true,” he said, “but you’re just helping to spread the flu by walking around like this.”  
I shook my head. “I don’t get close enough to people on a daily basis to spread it,” I told him.  
He then raised his eyebrows, and I realized right then that Marco was now at risk of getting this wretched flu as well.  
“I-shit. If you get sick because of me, I’ll make it up to you, I swear!”  
He only laughed- _such a nice, comforting laugh-_ and said, “Don’t worry. I have a really strong immune system, so I doubt I’ll get sick.”  
I wasn’t so sure about that, so I just sort of stared at him as I guzzled the rest of my water.  
  
An uproar of laughter from behind Marco made him jump, and that was kind of cute, but then I recognized the voices at that table…  
“They’re showing ‘ _The Conjuring’_ tonight at the student theater, man, you _gotta_ go!” someone at the table shouted. It sounded suspiciously like Connie, and Reiner was in the mix too….  
I leaned over to peek around Marco at the table, and Eren was with them as well.  
I slunk back into my chair and rested my chin in my palm, elbow on the table and attempting to hide my distaste for Jaeger.  
  
“It _is_ Halloween season, isn’t it,” Marco spoke up. “You plan on going to see any of the scary movies this month?”  
I shook my head vehemently. “Oh hell no.”  
“Not a fan of scary movies?” he grinned, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought that he was being cheeky. But Marco was too good-natured for that, surely.  
  
“Don’t you know?” Connie spoke up from the other table. “Jean _hates_ scary movies! He pisses himself and screams like a little girl.”  
  
“CONNIE!” I shouted, actually starting to get pissed off; I didn’t want Marco to know that! I _don’t_ actually piss myself, and I scream like a grown _man_ , thank you very much.  
Connie actually left his table to come and visit ours, for better or for worse, who knows.  
He suddenly seemed quite interested in Marco, so maybe for worse.  
“Ah, hey!” he said to him. “So you’ve met Jean.”  
I glared between the two of them, wondering what kind of conspiracy was occurring. “You two know each other?”  
“No,” Connie said. “Well, sort of. We were just talking yesterday about how we’d survived the flu epidemic so far. Not all of us can count ourselves as lucky, huh?”  
“Shut up,” I sighed, suppressing a sneeze and sniffling instead.  
Connie turned back to Marco and said, “I don’t even know your name, man.”  
“I’m Marco.”  
“Alright, Marco, I’m Connie. You’re welcome to join us for ‘ _The Conjuring_ ’ tonight, since Jean sure as hell won’t,” he offered.  
Marco laughed, and right then, when it was Connie he was laughing for instead of me, it didn’t feel quite as warm as it had previously. It kind of pissed me off, and I just wanted Connie to leave already.  
“Thanks, but I’m good. I’ve got a lot of homework to do,” he said, and I felt a bit better knowing that he’d rather do homework than go hang out with Connie and Jaeger or whoever else.  
  
“Alright,” Connie said. “Well, if you change your mind, we’ll all be in the student theater tonight! See you guys later.” And he finally left. Marco waved, and I may have let out a tiny snort of displeasure… the memory is a bit hazy.  
  
“Friend of yours?” he wondered.  
“Sort of… he’s one of my roommates.”  
He frowned. “Do you not like him?”  
“Huh?” _That’s a strange question… why would he think that?  
_ “No, he’s fine,” I continued. “I mean, he has his annoying moments, yeah, and he’s tough to take seriously at times, but we get along ok… which is more than I can say for most. Why?”  
“Um, nothing.” He then pulled out his phone and gasped an airy, “Oh!”  
“What is it?” I asked.  
“I’ve got class in 15 minutes, I’ve gotta take off.”  
  
There was a slight sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I ignored the strange feeling and slid his notebook back towards him. Into his bag it went, and he slung it over his shoulder and… didn’t get up.  
I frowned at him, wondering what he was thinking of _now_ , but not actually asking him what was up this time.  
He didn’t need me to ask, it seemed.  
  
“Hey Jean?”  
I perked up at the sound of my name in his mouth. “Yeah?”  
“You wouldn’t mind if I asked you for your number, would you?”  
 _Yes, of course, please take my number._ “Sure.”  
“R-really?”  
 _Yes really- be my friend please._ “Yeah, why not?” _  
_He shrugged, and then we exchanged numbers as I tried not to look too excited- I wasn’t excited to get this guy’s number, that would be weird and gay, both of which I was neither. I respected him and wanted his friendship, that was all.  
When he left me alone at the table, though, I left soon after… Connie’s table was much more annoying without Marco in between.  
  


* * *

  
  
Later that night, after having successfully caught up with my classes, I laid back on my bed, going over the events of the day.  
Lunch with Marco was definitely the highlight.  
Usually people didn’t interest me like Marco did. Marco was intelligent, and nice, and selfless, and his personality seemed completely opposite from mine, and yet… we got along great. Forget about the weird warm feelings and the creepy familiarity, those things aside, I really liked Marco. And…  
I was probably jumping the gun here….  
But I felt like I could really connect with him somehow.  
We hadn’t really “connected” yet.  
But I knew we could.  
I felt like if anyone could somehow reach into my own plane of existence and find me, Marco could.  
So there was no way in hell I was going to let such a potentially great friend go to waste.  
  
Staring at my phone, I sighed. I had to resist the urge to send him a text right then.  
I hoped I’d get another chance to talk to him soon.  


* * *

  
The chance actually presented itself the following morning. Who’d have thought.  
I’d walked into class, fifteen minutes early like usual and actually feeling pretty much recovered and full of energy, ready to take on the day for once. As soon as class started though, I swung around to look back at Marco-  
But he wasn’t there.  
I scanned around the room, searching desperately, wondering what in the world could have happened to him, even though I knew that if he sat anywhere other than his usual seat, he wouldn’t be counted for attendance anyway. But he just was not there.  
And then it hit me.  
 _Are you fucking kidding me…_  
Ignoring today’s lecture, I pulled out my phone and shot him a text.  
  
 _ **To: Marco**  
 **tell me ur not**  
  
_ His reply came two minutes later exactly.  
  
 _ **From: Marco**  
 **How are you going to make this up to me, Jean?**  
  
_ Of course he had perfect capitalization and grammar- it suited him so well. But more importantly…  
  
 _ **To: Marco**  
 **“rly strong immune system” my ass**  
  
 **From: Marco**  
 **Yeah… this is awful. :(**  
  
_ I let out a deep and heavy sigh, staring guiltily at that frowny face. I knew how he felt… that flu was a bitch.  
  
 _ **To: Marco**  
 **aw man, i am so so fucking srry. what can i do to make it up to u?**  
  
 **From: Marco:**  
 **Soup and a movie.**  
  
_ I scowled skeptically at his text. That was oddly specific…  
  
 _ **To: Marco**  
 **soup AND a movie?**  
  
 **From: Marco**  
 **I’ve already got the movie right here, you just have to watch it with me. But I could really use some soup… I don’t quite feel like going out and getting it myself. :(**  
  
_ Ah. That made sense. And watching a movie with Marco sounded like a fucking terrific idea, I couldn’t agree to it faster.  
  
 _ **To: Marco**  
 **i see. ur even treating me to a movie? i shuld start owing u things more often. ill bring u ur soup later tonite then. hows 7:30 sound?**  
  
 **From: Marco**  
 **That sounds great!**  
 **Oh… and Jean?**  
  
_ I tried hard to not imagine him saying my name. I tried hard and failed.  
  
 _ **To: Marco**  
 **yeah?**  
  
 **From: Marco**  
 **It’s a scary movie. :)**  
  
_ I stared at his text message for ten whole seconds, absolutely bewildered. So he _was_ perfectly capable of being cheeky!  
  _Freckled Jesus!? I call bullshit!  
  
 **To: Marco**  
 **ARE YOU SERIOUS**  
  
 **From: Marco**  
 **Hehe.**  
  
_ I practically growled at the screen of my phone. But then I had to remind myself… it was inanimate.  
  
 _ **To: Marco**  
 **dont u “hehe” me, u little shit! i aint agreeing to tht, fuck tht noise**  
  
_ I would love to chill with Marco and watch a movie, I really would, but I just didn’t want him to see what I was like during a scary movie and think I’m a pussy. Real simple.  
  
 _ **From: Marco**  
 **But Jean! You owe me! I feel terrible and I could really use the company… :( Please?**  
  
 **To: Marco**  
 **just the soup isnt enough?**  
  
 **From: Marco**  
 **No. :(**  
 **:(**  
 **:(**  
 **:(**  
  
_ Goddamnit, those frowny faces were going to be the death of me. Well… I _was_ the one who got him sick in the first place. And I _did_ owe him. And he _was_ miserable…  
Shit.  
I sighed.  
  
 _ **To: Marco**  
 **FINE.**  
  
 **From: Marco**  
 **Yaaaaay. See you at 7:30! I live in Sina 323. :)**  
  
_ What had I gotten myself into!?  
 _  
 **To: Marco**  
 **FUCK.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am dead, friends. I am dead and writing this has slayed me.  
> Yeah, it is now 5:30 AM and I may have carpal tunnel and why did I think that sitting down and writing this out in one sitting was a good idea?  
> Do you know what this means, guys?  
> It means I wrote over 8,000 words today in a sitting, with Jean and Marco's POVs combined.  
> Help me.
> 
> Blah blah blah, anyway, thanks for taking the time to read this so far! Jean is actually a lot of fun to write, even if he doesn't come naturally to me. It's a struggle...  
> Don't be afraid to comment, critique, point out a mistake, etc. I love whatever feedback I can get. :)  
> (PLEASE don't be afraid to point out mistakes- I churned this out in the wee hours of the morning, so I'm sure there's a ton of them, no matter how many times I look over this thing)
> 
> ...maybe I should actually try and get some sleep now...... Chapter two can wait, right?  
> <3


	2. I Won't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two dorks do dorky things.  
> Because they're dorks.
> 
> This guy is a dork in particular, though.
> 
>  
> 
> [Click here for Marco's POV!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/991568/chapters/1965284)

 

_All the small things_   
_True care truth brings_   
_I'll take one lift_   
_Your ride best trip_   
_Always I know_   
_You'll be at my show_   
_Watching, waiting, commiserating_

_Say it ain't so, I will not go_  
 _Turn the lights off, carry me home_  
-Blink 182 ( _All the Small Things)_

* * *

  
The rest of that day was spent in half-dread, half-excitement.  
Exciting half: I get to hang out with Marco and see his place! Yaaaay!  
Dreadful half: I have to watch a scary movie. God fucking dammit. Why does it feel like for every bit of happiness I get, there’s three times more of something awful?  
But I couldn’t just back out. If I backed out of this, I’d probably make the guy feel bad, _and_ wreck whatever chance we had at becoming friends. And hadn’t I said that I did _not_ want to risk losing this potential friendship? I’d meant it.  
  
Hanging out in my room that afternoon, I’d attempted to do homework, but found that I was far too stressed to even focus… the clock was distracting as fuck. I kept glancing at it, watching as the minutes ticked away, knowing I’d soon have to go pick up food for Marco.  
I considered taking a small nap beforehand, since I was one hundred percent positive that I would get no sleep that night, loud roommates or not, but judging from my jittery nerves, I knew that such an attempt would be pointless.  
Soon enough, seven o’ clock rolled around, and I headed off to Panera. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was strolling straight towards my own personal guillotine, even though I clearly knew that I was only headed in the direction of a cozy little restaurant that specialized in bread products. I ignore the anxiety I was feeling and went on my way.  


* * *

  
“Knock knock!” I called.  
I was standing in Sina, outside room 323, with two bags of Panera’s soup and bread products in hand. Both my hands were full, so I didn’t even bother with the hassle of attempting to physically knock on his door, and opted to instead scream from the other side. Several doors along the hallway flew open, residents peeking out from their rooms to see what all the noise was about or if they had a visitor, and several of them glared pointedly at me.  
Like I fucking cared. They were lucky I had my hands filled with wheat and wheat by-products, otherwise I wouldn’t have hesitated to flip them off. With _both_ my hands. Fuckers.  
  
When the door still hadn’t opened, I this time yelled, “Did you die _already?”  
_ The sounds of creaking floorboards and a mysterious hissing noise from within informed me that no, Marco had not died, and that he was very much alive.  
Finally, his door swung open to reveal what I will begrudgingly call one of the cutest sights I’d been given the honor of seeing. Now, at that point in time, I would have _never_ admitted to thinking of Marco as _cute_ , but let’s get actual here: he was fucking adorable.  
  
He was in nothing but a plain black t-shirt and dark blue boxers, his feet bare and his toes wriggling against the floor as he tried to maintain his balance. His eyes, normally wide and bright and generally childish-looking, were now squinting at me, almost shut, and he brought a fist up to rub his knuckle against one eye. The sickness _had_ taken its toll on him, judging from his bright red nose and pale complexion, but that only seemed to contribute to his generally helpless-and-innocent appearance. I could only smirk when my gaze landed on his hair, no longer parted, but mussed up from sleep.  
  
“Nice bed head,” I commented.  
  
He blinked rapidly then, eyes still not focusing, and a wave of guilt hit me when I remembered how much I’d been dreading coming to see him. Looking at him right then, he made me feel like I needed to take care of him. _Talk about a sense of misplaced obligation,_ I thought dryly.  
  
“I… uh. That looks like more than just soup,” he said, his eyes settling on the food in my hands.  
“Well, yeah,” I said. “Because you haven’t eaten a thing today, have you?”  
Marco’s stomach decided to make a grand entrance into our conversation by emitting a low, guttural rumble that sounded better suited to a demon attempting to claw its way out of the depths of hell than to a gastric intestine. I glanced at it warily, feeling as though Satan himself would burst out of Marco’s midriff at any possible moment. “Sounds like it’s pissed off,” I observed.  
  
He merely clutched at his stomach and nodded slowly before stepping aside and turning his lights on. I followed him into the room, letting the door swing shut behind me, then quickly set the food on the only vacant surface in the room, which happened to be an empty desk by the window.  
 _An empty desk..?  
_ I glanced around the room, doing a quick visual sweep, and found that Marco’s room seemed to be only half occupied. The top bunk was bare, there was an empty desk, and if I had to make a guess, I’d say that one of the two wardrobes in the room was void of any scrap of clothing. (I don’t know _what_ the hell was up with the fucking blanket-curtains hiding his bottom bunk, but if Marco wanted to sleep like a goddamn princess, then so be it. Whatever helped him sleep at night, I guess.)  
“You have your own room?” I asked, incredulous.  
“Yeah,” he sighed, almost wistfully. “The roommate I’d been assigned transferred out on the first day, so now I’ve got this room to myself.”  
“ _Lucky,_ ” I said. _You lucky, lucky son of a bitch._ I’d be lying if I said that the green-eyed monster wasn’t paying me a visit right then. I was jealous as fuck.  
  
“What? It’s not all that great to be honest… I kind of wish I had someone to share it with.”  
I raised my hand, halting him; I’d heard enough. “No, stop, you don’t know what you’re saying,” I warned him. “Be careful what you wish for, because you could end up with a _crazy_ roommate.”  
Marco shot me a strange look, his mouth going lopsided and his round nose scrunching up a bit. “Did _you_ end up with crazy roommates?” he asked.  
My mouth flew open to answer, but then I realized what I was about to tell him and snapped it shut again.  
 _Aw hell no, that’s going to make things really awkward…..  
  
_ He raised an eyebrow and grinned at me, until I finally decided _To hell with it_ and breathed out a short puff of air through my nostrils indignantly.  
“Okay, fine, you really wanna know? I live in Maria, so we have suite housing, and the four of us share a bathroom. Do you know how much that sucks?”  
“Well that doesn’t sound so-“  
“And me and Connie have to listen to our two other roommates bang in their room every night.”  
I watched as Marco suddenly burned a bright red, which made my stomach flip-flop a little, though I couldn’t say why. “O-oh,” he mumbled.  
“Yeah,” I breathed, more than a little embarrassed as I brought a hand up to awkwardly rub at the back of my neck. “A-anyway,” I said, hoping to use Marco’s hunger to change the subject, “Come eat your food already. I got you cheddar and broccoli soup, so I hope that’s ok. I also brought some other random food they had in case that’s not enough…”  
  
“No, that’s perfect! Thank you so much, Jean!” His voice was filled with so much gratitude that I had to fight not to grin like an idiot.  
I watched complacently as he pulled a blanket out from his makeshift princess bed and draped it around his shoulders, then padded over to where his food sat waiting.  
“Oh,” he began, “and if your roommates get to be too much of a problem, you’re always welcome to stay the night here, you know.” He sat down and got started on his meal, doing his best impersonation of a vacuum as he set about sucking the soup down his gullet with just the sheer wind-force of his inhaling lungs.  
  
 _Hmm… staying the night here with Marco?_ I had to say, I was touched. Here, Marco had his own room, and he was openly inviting someone like me to stay the night with him whenever I liked or needed. If I was in his position, would I be doing the same? I had a feeling that the answer to that wasn’t a good one…  
“I’ll have to take you up on your offer, sometime,” I said quietly.  
  
I let him continue eating as I wandered about the room, instantly drawn to his cluttered desk. It was covered with books and folded papers, and littered with pictures of what I could only assume were Marco’s family… a short and full-yet-curvy woman with dark wavy hair, grey at the roots and a warm smile that brought out thin lines around her eyes and mouth. A tall, balding man with faint traces of freckles and a thick mustache, his belly somewhat round beneath his loose-fitting shirt. And a tiny girl with short black hair, her eyes just as round and brown as Marco’s, freckles dotting her cheeks as well. There were a few others, old people who were probably his grandparents and other miscellaneous persons that showed up once or twice, but the man, woman and little girl were seen the most.  
  
Something disturbing caught my eye, and cautiously, I picked it up. It read ‘ _Insidious’_ in wide white letters, and there was a young boy on the front that looked to be in serious need of psychological evaluation. I knew what that was. I knew _exactly_ what that was. And I did not like it.  
“I’m gonna fucking cry,” I whined, to which Marco replied, “I hope you like ghosts and things like that, because I think that’s what it’s about…”  
 _Wow, thanks Marco, that makes me feel a lot better because that’s EXACTLY WHAT I FUCKING HATE._  
I shuddered as I continued to stare at the DVD case, flipping it over to read what it had to say on the back. I began to sigh and grumble and complain to myself about how it was such bullshit that I had to watch something like this, why can’t we watch a different movie, and how I’d get Marco back for this.  
“Hey,” Marco spoke up. “Have you heard about the recent study? On complaining?”  
I pulled my eyes away from the movie box to glare at him, suspicious. _Talk about out of nowhere_.  
“No….?”  
“Research _actually_ suggests that complaining does absolutely _nothing_ to help a situation!” he said, trying to act all coy and innocent and surprised.  
 _Well that kind of shit earns you a movie to the head, I didn’t ask for your fucking sass,_ I thought as I launched the DVD across the room.  
It hit him square upside the head.  
Marco just laughed and coughed as he picked the movie up off the floor, drawing his blanket around him like some sort of cape while he shuffled over to the DVD player.  
  
  
“Could you turn the lights off, please?” he said, overly polite as he placed the disc in the tray and snatched up the remote.  
I could feel the blood drain from my face. “What!? We’re… we’re gonna watch it in the dark!?”  
“Of course…. It’s a _scary movie,_ after all.”  
  
I made sure to express my displeasure through some sort of unattractive facial expression as I quickly snapped the lights off, turning to watch Marco climb into his bed and pin the overhanging blankets to the side. With him sitting in his little princess bed and a blanket-cape hanging off him like he was royalty, I couldn’t help but think that a tiara would really complete the look. _Princess Marco…_  
Her majesty then turned and beckoned for me to join her on the bed, and I quickly complied.  
  
I kicked off my tennis shoes and was about to dive right in… but then he held up a hand.  
“Now Jean, before I let you onto my bed, you have to promise me that you won’t piss yourself during the movie.”  
 _YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS._ “GOD fucking DAMN IT, Marco, do you want me to watch this thing with you or _not!?_ ” Potential friend was hurting my ego, and that was making me feel really pissed off and self-conscious.  
He then scooted back and propped himself up against the wall, patting the spot beside him. “Yes please,” he said pleasantly, a soft and innocent smile playing on his lips.  
I sighed- I just couldn’t fight that smile no matter how hard I tried- and resigned to climbing into the bed next to him. But the jokes-at-Jean’s-expense were not over yet.  
As Marco skipped the previews, he said, “But really, if you need to take a potty break, don’t be afraid to let me know, ok?”  
I shoved an elbow into his ribs.  
  
Before he started the movie, I made sure to quickly grab one of his pillows and pull it close to my chest, steeling my nerves and getting ready for whatever may come.  
“Uh… _what_?” he questioned, glancing at the pillow I was holding.  
“I’m preparing myself,” I explained.  
If he wanted any more clarification, he sure didn’t say anything about it; he just decided to press ‘play’ on the remote and start the movie.  
  
Now, get this: I wasn’t the first one to jump! One point to Jean.  
The title came on screen, accompanied by awful and out-of-tune string instruments that raked at my eardrums. It actually startled Marco.  
“The fucking music is annoying and _really_ unnecessary,” I sighed.  
Marco snuggled deeper into his blanket next to me. I had a feeling that this was going to be hell.  
And man was I right.  
  
The first bit of the movie was fine… nothing scary happened. And in my book, not-scary-things were _good_ things. All that really happened at first was some family moving into an old house and there were some noisy kids. I was deceived by that calming beginning…. _Lulled into a false sense of security_ , you might say. The mother even started to sing a calming song while playing the piano, and I thought, _I could actually sleep to this._  
“This isn’t so bad,” I said, and Marco nodded next to me.  
I regret saying those words to this day. Not even five minutes after those words had left my mouth, this furnace in the attic randomly started itself up, and I shouted out a surprised “FUCK.”  
“You spoke too soon,” Marco said, trying to stifle his giggles. “It wasn’t even that scary!”  
“Yeah, ok, but _I’m_ not the one who had a heart attack at the _title_.”  
I looked over just in time to see him pout, which was kind of funny and a little cute.  
“It was the music,” he mumbled, and I turned away so that he wouldn’t see me roll my eyes.  
We continued to watch in silence, and I was ready this time- much more tense than before.  
When the attic door opened by itself, I let out this high-pitched whine that grew louder as one of the kids saw and went up the attic stairs like a dumbass.  
“Kid’s got balls, I’ll give him that,” I said, pulling my legs up and placing my chin on my knees.  
“More like ‘no common sense,” Marco added, and I hummed in agreement.  
  
Now, here’s where things get embarrassing. From the start, I’d made sure to keep a wide berth of space between Marco and I, knowing full well what was going to happen…  
Sure enough, I was right and it happened. The scene with the baby monitor came up, and I could feel every muscle in my body twitch as I jumped, almost hitting my head against the top bunk while I yelled, “What the FUCK!”  
I scrambled over to Marco and grabbed his arm.  
“JEAN, calm down!” I vaguely remember him trying to pry me off of him, but only vaguely. I was much too terrified and focused on the movie, my muscles locked up and tense.  
The movie continued, and for a while, there were no jump scenes, so that gave me time to relax and I eventually let Marco go. But then this random guy showed up in the baby’s bedroom out of _nowhere_ , and- this is embarrassing as _fuck_ I swear to god- I shrieked “AH MARCO!” and pressed my forehead into his shoulder, bringing the pillow up to shield my eyes from the horrid movie.  
Marco started laughing.  
“Don’t laugh at me,” I growled, my face flushing in humiliation as he only laughed harder.  
  
                That’s kind of how the entire movie went. With me clinging to Marco and screaming my head off like some sort of pussy. There _were_ times where _Marco_ was the one who would scream and grab onto _me_ , but those were few and far between.  
  
One of his favorite moments, as he would later tell me, was when the red-faced creature that was supposedly a demon peeked around the father’s head, and I began to swear incoherently as I grabbed his hand and yanked it up to my chest, feeling a few of his joints crack in my grip.  
“Wow,” he’d said, “not even a ‘no homo’? Rude.”  
I said back, “Fuck you _and_ your ‘no homo’, if something gay happens here tonight it will be completely your fault!!!!”  
  
Marco really enjoyed that movie- my memory of it is mostly filled with his peals of laughter, and it always made it hard for me to be mad at him when he was laughing so happily like that. That was probably why I couldn’t bring myself to be pissed at him when he sneezed on me.  
We’d been pretty tangled up and were hiding our faces in each other when I felt him sneeze into my shoulder.  
“Did you just do what I think you just did?”  
“Nope.”  
“Well ok then.” It wasn’t worth getting upset over. I sort of deserved it for getting him sick in the first place, anyway.  
  
By the end of the movie, the two of us were twisted around each other, hands on one another’s shoulders and our legs curled in, intertwining. The title flashed across the screen again (along with the god awful music track), and we remained frozen on the bed.  
“Did… did he just?” I whispered.  
“Yeah,” he whispered back.  
We sat there like that for a moment, unwilling to move. Then Marco whispered, “See? That wasn’t so bad…”  
“Tch.” _Bullshit._  
After around thirty-some-odd seconds of staring at the credits, spooky music playing in the background, my freckled friend reached out and picked up the remote, turning off the TV. We were encased in darkness instantly.  
“Why the hell would you do that!? Let me turn the light on first!” I begged, my voice cracking.  
“Yeesh,” he said, turning the TV back on to the credits. “Sorry.”  
The second the glow of the TV had returned, I was disentangling myself from Marco’s limbs and shooting off the bed, hurriedly flicking the light switch on.  
Only then did Marco turn off the TV.  
I didn’t move from my spot by the door, however.  
  
“Hey Marco,” I said.  
“…………..What?”  
I scowled over at him. “I have to piss.”  
“Are you serious?” he deadpanned.  
“Yeah!”  
“Then _go_ already! The bathroom is just down the hall!” he laughed.  
I glared harder at him. “You’ve got to be out of your fucking _mind_ if you think I’m going to walk to that bathroom alone. Sina is old and run-down and creepy as hell.”  
“….Are you _really_ serious?” he asked again. He was really trying my patience, as well as the capacity and limits of my bladder.  
“ _Yes,_ dude, come _on!”_ I bounced my knees a bit for emphasis.  
“Fine, let’s go,” he sighed, slipping off the bed. I then turned to warily open the door, just a bit, and peek suspiciously down the hall.  
“God, hurry up,” he said behind me, opening the door all the way and pushing me out into the open.  
  
I cursed under my breath and quickly started down the hall, glancing behind me to make sure Marco was still there. It was probably my mind playing tricks on me after that movie, but I could have sworn I was seeing weird shadows and strange movements out of the corner of my eye.  
All of the sudden, a loud _‘creeeaaaakk_ ’ echoed around us, Marco squeaked, and we were gone. Racing down the hall as fast as we could. We burst through that bathroom door and stopped, panting. Looking over at him, his face was flushed, eyes wide with apprehension and eyebrows pulled up with worry. I remembered how he’d squeaked in the hallway and I couldn’t help it- I broke down laughing.  
  
“Man, you were scared shitless!” I managed to choke out, and the expression he made when I said that- he looked _scandalized_. I laughed even harder, and he said, “S-so!? You were too!”  
He had to finally smack me on the shoulder and tell me to “Go pee already!”  
  
I didn’t leave until 11 at night. After the movie, the two of us ended up just sitting on his bed and talking, eating up the extra food from Panera as we teased each other. Our jokes somehow got us to the point of almost physical violence, but before we could get around to any real wrestling, Marco accused me of “taking advantage of his weakened state,” so I backed off.  
  
I groaned loudly when I caught sight of the time, knowing I should probably head back soon. “Hmmm, I wonder what my roommates are doing right now?” I wondered sarcastically.  
“My offer still stands,” he said, but…. I shook my head. _Not tonight. I can’t do it tonight._  
The idea of just crashing at his place that night was wonderfully appealing to me, but… I wasn’t sure how he’d react if I had the nightmares that night. I didn’t really feel like risking it….  
“I’ve got class in the morning,” I lied. I actually didn’t have class until the afternoon on Fridays. He didn’t need to know that, though.  
“Yeah, so do I,” he said.  
I squinted at him. “You’re staying in bed tomorrow, though, don’t you fucking _dare_ go to class.”  
“Boring”, he huffed indignantly, then leaned back against the wall. “But yeah, I know.”  
Scooting off the bed and pulling my shoes back on, I asked him, “What if I said I’d come and see you tomorrow?”  
“What _if_ you said you’d come and see me tomorrow?”  
“As in, what would you say, genius?”  
He grinned over at me. “I’d say that would probably make my day.”  
“Cool,” I said, standing. “Do you like Call of Duty?”  
“If you bring Call of Duty tomorrow, I’ll love you forever,” he said.  
I couldn’t help the grin that tugged at the corners of my mouth- it was subconscious. “Careful,” I warned, “I just might hold you to that.”  
I headed over to the window to get a peek outside and grimaced. “It’s dark as hell out there,” I complained. Marco told me that I better run fast.  
“Wow, thanks for that astounding advice.”  
“You’re welcome,” he sighed, stretching out comfortably on his bed. I then wished him a good night and told him that he should hurry up and get better before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind me.  
  
The night was pretty chilly as I walked back to Maria, but I was surprised to find that outside, alone and in the dark after a scary movie, I wasn’t actually scared….  
I felt at peace.  
Hanging out with Marco seemed to actually make me feel calm, and on the quiet stroll back to my dorm, he was the only thing on my mind; he was my new friend that had somehow managed to have me sit through a _horror_ movie, and yet I still had a good time.  
Yeah, he was definitely someone I wanted to keep in my life. I could probably scour the entire planet to the ends of the earth, and never find someone who even _compared_ to Marco. The guy was pretty damn special.  
When I got back to my room, I found Connie passed out, his massive headphones blaring, and…. _Are those my ear buds underneath!?  
_ As it turns out, Connie was listening to a disturbing, cacophonous orchestra that was comprised of random songs on both of our ipods. I suppose he had resorted to drastic measures in an attempt to drown out the shouts and moans and creaks of the other room.  
I ended up ripping my ear buds out of his ears and taking my music back, shoving them into my own and flopping into bed. His only response was to snore loudly.  
 _It must be nice being a heavy sleeper,_ I thought, closing my eyes.  
  
I didn’t have the nightmares that night.  


* * *

  
  
**_To: Marco  
hey, is tonite a good nite for me to stay the night?_  
  
** I was sitting in my calculus class, absentmindedly going over yesterday’s events in my head. I’d been so worried about having the nightmares and freaking Marco out if I stayed the night, but in the end, I hadn’t had them at all. I was feeling a bit more confident, so I thought I’d give it a try….  
But Marco wasn’t texting me back, and I was quickly growing impatient.  
By the end of the class, it finally dawned on me…  
  
 ** _To: Marco  
…ur not still sleeping, r u?  
  
_** I took his lack of response as a confirmation.  
  
 ** _To: Marco  
wake the fuck up already, sleeping beauty  
  
_** He replied after _that_ one.  
  
 ** _From: Marco  
Aw, do you really think I’m beautiful? You’re really sweet.  
  
_** Yeah, ok, of _course_ he replied to that. Call the guy beautiful and you had his attention. Fucking princess.  
  
 ** _To: Marco  
will u just answer the damn question  
  
From: Marco  
I told you twice already that you’re free to stay whenever. Of course you can stay the night. :)  
  
To: Marco  
awesome  
  
_** Well, the deed was done, and there was no backing out of it now. I decided to head back and start packing. The Xbox had to be out of the room before Connie got back, or there’d be a fight. I also might  have made a mental note to stuff a few extra clothes into my bag as well… you never knew when you needed more clothes, right?  
  


* * *

  
  
That night’s sleepover was tons of fun. I had all my shit and bedding rolled up in my bag, Xbox 360 in its carrying case. I tried to get him to help me set it up, but all he wanted to do was dig through my games, gasping and beaming like an idiot when he saw ones that he liked.  
“Connie’s gonna be pissed that I took the Xbox, but that’s what he gets for making our room reek of weed. It’s my Xbox anyway,” I mused, plugging in the audio and visual cords into their respectful slots.  
As soon as it was hooked up, Marco snatched at a controller, but I stopped him, telling him that I didn’t want to sleep on a top bunk that night, and that we should probably debunk the beds. I hoped he wouldn’t interrogate me about my reasons, because I didn’t feel like explaining that I had a tendency to half-fall out of bed the second I woke up, or that I would possibly plummet to the floor if I had a nightmares, but he didn’t seem all too interested in asking about it; instead, he quietly agreed, and even explained that he’d rammed his head against the top bunk on multiple occasions. The mere fact that he hadn’t debunked the beds sooner was astounding…  
It was bye-bye princess bed after that.  
  
We set up my designated bed by the window, next to the empty desk and ordered three large chicken-and-steak pizzas, which were tasty as fuck. I’d never had them before, but Marco insisted I try them and that they were the pizza industry’s very own marketable manna. Damn was he right. That shit was gone faster than you could blink.  
We played Call of Duty until a little after midnight, and just like expected, we taunted and teased each other the entire time. It came to be too much, and we broke out into a wrestling match. Neither of us won, we fought until we were exhausted, and I loudly declared that I’d had a tiring day and that I’d beat him some other time, but I silently vowed to not piss him off when he was in full health. The guy had a a lot of strength as it were.  
  
We fell asleep after our little spar, and that night, I dreamed of nothing.

* * *

  
I woke up long before Marco did. Judging from the purple-tinged clouds I could see from the window, it was early morning. I spent around two hours or so just laying there, listening to Marco’s slow breathing. It was… really nice. I turned to look at him, his form seeming to be nothing more than a mound of bedding. But I could see his messy black hair, the blanket pulled up around his ears as he continued to sleep. His feet poked out from under the sheets on the side of the bed, and I realized that he slept curled up in a ball on his side, and that was really cute.  
  
When 8 am rolled around, my patience ran thin. I didn’t _care_ how cute this guy was, my stomach was eating itself and all surrounding innards. I was also craving caffeine- my mind may be wide awake, but my body was slow moving until it was in my system. Not to mention how pissed off I was if I went without it.  
I took my pillow and threw it straight at Marco’s head.  
“Wake up, I’m starving!”  
He mumbled something then turned over.  
“I’m going to _die_ of starvation, Marco, and it will be _your_ fault!”  
He groaned and burrowed further beneath the covers. “You don’t need me to feed you, Jean, go get your own damn food.” Well, well, well, it seems I wasn’t the _only_ one who was cranky. I pulled the covers off of him, causing him to hiss at the wave of cold air hitting his skin while I began dragging him out of bed by his feet.  
“You know what I’m like before I’ve had my coffee, Marco,” I reminded him grimly.  
  
It was a cold and rainy day, chilly and almost sleeting while our breath turned into clouds of steam in front of us. We quickly grabbed breakfast and I’m pretty sure I scalded all my taste buds off, with how quickly I sucked the boiling coffee down my throat.  
We mostly just talked about boring shit all day… our majors, our classes, our families. I told him about my parents, how I’d fight with my father a lot, and my mother just sort of existed. “I’m convinced they’re more concerned with their reputation than my actual well-being,” I’d said. But it was whatever; I’d already come to terms with the fact that my parents and I would never get along, so it was no big deal, and I told Marco not to worry about it.  
He, on the other hand, seemed to come from a rather pleasant family. Aside from the fact that his parents were recently divorced and that he and his father didn’t get along at times, he seemed to really care for his family. He really liked to talk about Marie, his younger sister, and the pictures of the little girl on his desk flashed through my mind briefly. When he talked about how much his mother coddled him, I called him a momma’s boy.  
“Am not!”  
“Are too.”  
He let out a frustrated growl that got a chuckle out of me.  
  
Sometime after lunch, we went back to his room and played more games, when I told Marco that I was staying the night again, and told him of the extra clothes I’d packed.  
“You planned to stay the entire weekend from the start, didn’t you?” he accused. I just shrugged.  
We took turns showering, with me borrowing his girly-ass shampoo, and once we were all clean and flower-y smelling like a couple of pansies, we spent the rest of the night talking, and ordering more of that delicious pizza.  
But it got to be pretty late. And me and Marco’d had plenty of time to get comfortable with one another. So of course, we started to get a little up close and personal…  
It was mostly my fault though.  
  
We were just laying on Marco’s bed, chatting quietly while our legs hung off the side and we stared up at the ceiling together.  
I was having such a good time, spending my weekend with this guy, that I couldn’t help but wonder who all else had the privilege of calling Marco their friend.  
  
“Hey… Marco?” I said quietly after several minutes of silence.  
“Hm?”  
“I was wondering… who all else do you hang out with? Besides me?”  
I glanced sideways at him and watched as his brows furrowed, seemingly deep in thought. “Huh… why do you want to know?” he asked.  
I shrugged. “I was just wondering is all…”  
He sighed, a small puff of air blowing past his lips. “Mmmm, if you really want to know… Here at Trost Uni? No one.”  
He got quiet then, and I felt a strange sense of relief wash through me. What? Why was I relieved? That really didn’t make any sense, so I didn’t dwell too much on it.  
“Oh,” I almost whispered. “How come?”  
I looked over at him to see him frown. “Well… don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I went through my entire life without making friends. I have plenty of friends back at home. But we all know how long high school friendships last…”  
I looked back up at the ceiling, scowling. Boy did I know. Not that I had that many friends back in high school, but still. I just nodded.  
Marco continued. “I just… I’m not really involved in anything. I don’t go to club activities or frat parties or church… and I don’t know if you noticed, but I don’t really like going outside of my comfort zone. I don’t _mind_ talking to people, but since I’ve been here, I just… don’t.”  
I hummed, thinking. So Marco didn’t hang out… with _anybody?_ That seemed a little sad. “But we’ve been here for over a month and a half,” I said, “Don’t you get lonely?”  
He shrugged next to me. “I’m ok with not being terribly social, but… Yeah. I do,” he sighed. “That’s why I wish I had a roommate, y’know? I’m kind of jealous of you… _I’d_ like three roommates.”  
I turned and grinned at him. “Preferably ones who don’t make a ton of ruckus in the night, yeah?”  
“Yeah,” he agreed, and he choked out something that could barely even be classified as a laugh… it was much too forced. Pity swirled deep within my chest, and I don’t know… I wanted to make Marco feel better.  
“Well,” I told him, “It’s fine if you don’t hang out with a lot of people. I’m the only friend you need, yeah?”  
“Because who needs a friend who’s _not_ Jean Kirschtein?” He droned, sarcastic.  
“Exactly.”  
  
We got quiet again as I fell deep into thought… so, I was the only person Marco had really hung out with here at college? That gave me a fuzzy feeling inside, and I felt rather pleased with myself; I wanted to be Marco’s _best_ friend.  
  
“So, Jean?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Who all do _you_ hang out with? You know….. besides me.” He was turning my own question back around on me, of course. I should have expected that.  
“Hmmmm… who indeed,” I thought out loud. “No one.”  
I felt him turn to look at me, but my eyes remained trained on the ceiling.” “Not even your roommates?” he asked.  
“Not really…”  
“But you live with them!”  
I sighed. “Just because you live with someone doesn’t mean you’re automatically best friends, though. I mean, they’re cool and all, but…” _But we just can’t connect. We don’t feel each other. I feel lonely even when I’m around them.  
_ “But… what?”  
I shook my head. “It’s…. nothing.” It’d be a bit weird to explain to Marco, so I kept it to myself.  
“Do you get lonely too, then?” he wondered.  
“Well, everyone gets lonely, it’s just natural, yeah? But… seeing as how I’m living with three other guys, a lot of the time I’m just trying to get some alone time. I doubt I get as lonely as you…”  
“But you still get lonely?” he prodded, and I nodded, but I didn’t look over at him, even though I could still feel his gaze on me.  
“A lot.”  
He didn’t say anything for a second. “Well, that’s okay, because you’ve got me now, right? You can just hang out with me when you get lonely.”  
“True,” I said, smiling now. That’s exactly what I liked to hear. And then I realized… “I actually don’t feel lonely when I’m with you.”  
Marco paused. “Well, of course not! We’re friends, of course you wouldn’t feel lonely with friends….”  
  
I chewed on my lip, pensive.  
  
“Uh… Jean? W-we _are_ friends, right?”  
I blinked out of my reverie. “What? Oh, well yeah, of course! You don’t even have to ask… I don’t spend my entire weekends with just _anyone_ , you know.”  
It was true. Marco sure was something else if I could spend this much time with him and not be annoyed. And the fact that he was as lonely as I was, maybe even more in his own way, filled me with a sense of camaraderie.  
“We’re two lonely losers, so we’ve got to stick together, yeah?” I said.  
He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. Laying there by what would soon become my closest friend, I felt completely whole and at peace. I felt better than I had in a long, long time.  
I actually felt…. Ok.  
  
We fell asleep just like that; on Marco’s bed, side by side.  
  
And we were not lonely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow-ee, Jean's half is a little over a thousand words longer than Marco's.  
> I guess he's just got a lot to say. Don't make a habit of it, Jean.
> 
> Yehaw, and now I get to move on to chapter threeeeeee. :)
> 
> Also, to those of you that left comments and Kudos, THANK YOU! They have really made my day to know how much you guys appreciate this story, and it has made me really excited to share future chapters I have planned!!! <333  
> So look forward to those!  
> :)


	3. Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean and Marco start a riot, but mostly Jean.  
> And in which Jean and Marco get invited to a party, but mostly Marco.
> 
>  
> 
> _oh ho ho, Jean, you kissing demon, you. it's because you're French, isn't it? //waggles eyebrows suggestively_  
> [Click here for Marco's POV!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/991568/chapters/1982277)

_You're alive,_  
 _But you know that the wire_  
 _Under you is bending._  
 _And the truth is always telling you to be_  
 _Immune to everything._  
  
 _Hold back the melancholy,_  
 _Hold back the fear, darling._  
 _It's a crime. (Quiet the_ _mind)_  
-IAMX ( _Quiet the mind_ )  
  


* * *

  
I looked down at my phone, eyes squinting at the little clock at the top of the screen. Where the hell was Marco? It was almost one in the afternoon, and my stomach was being incredibly obnoxious, catching the attention of several passersby as I waited.  
  
 **To: Marco  
dude where the fuck r u?  
**  
He and I had made arrangements to meet up at the fountain… the very same fountain I was standing next to right then. Usually, we would just head to lunch right after astronomy on weekdays, but we didn’t have astronomy on Fridays, so that wasn’t really an option. Instead, we’ve had to come up with places to meet each other at.  
  
 **From: Marco  
Will you just chill out, I’m almost there, my last class was all the way on the other side of campus!  
  
** _Then why the hell didn’t you just tell me that this was a shitty spot to meet up at? We could have picked some other place, I wouldn’t have cared,_ I thought, sighing as I read the message. Marco was so nice and considerate, but he practically begged to be stepped all over and used. Hell, he was bending over backwards just so we could meet up in a place that was convenient _only for me._ I felt insanely guilty about that at first, but that quickly shifted into irritation and annoyance towards him for making me feel guilty about something that he did of his own volition…. I couldn’t stay mad at him though. My anger melted away at the thought of his big, innocent brown eyes and smiling, freckled face.  
  
Tired of standing, I moved to sit at the edge of the fountain, making sure the stone was dry before placing my ass on it. The day was incredibly nice; there was a slight breeze, and the sky was a bright and cloudless blue. The leaves on the tress had already begun to change, shades of brown and yellow and red assaulting my vision.  Thinking back, these past few weeks with Marco had been… ‘fun’ didn’t quite cover it. A blast? Spectacular? ‘Life-changing’ was pushing it… I think I’ll just stick with ‘spectacular’.  
  
These past few weeks with Marco had been _spectacular._ I was not stretching the truth one little bit when I said that I loved every minute I spent with the guy, and that was a _huge_ deal for me. Usually, I couldn’t fucking stand most people, and those I could, it didn’t stay that way for too long. But Marco was an absolute treat to be around… my jokes didn’t offend him, and he listened to me whenever I wanted to talk, and I always felt so calm when I was with him. It was great.  
At that point, it had become standard for me to stay in Sina with Marco over the weekends… after all, what was the point of me even going back to my room each night, if I was just going to spend every spare moment I had with Marco? Exactly, there _was_ no point.  
I did just that, by the way: spent every spare moment I had with Marco. We went to lunch and dinner together, we studied and did homework together- hell, he even helped me with some of my work. I cherished how he would go out of his way for me… it made me feel like I was worth something.  
We spent our evenings after dinner together as well—usually in _my_ dorm, because he really liked video games…  
“Growing up, my only chances to play video games were with my cousins, whenever I went to visit them. I spent an entire summer with them once! It was a lot of fun.”  
  
That’s what he’d said. So of course, I wanted him to play whatever he wanted to his heart’s content, even if I got tired of the games; it was fun just because I was with Marco. He made everything enjoyable. Even the hell hole that was Rainbow Road. Seriously, fuck that road.    
  
My dorm tended to be really crowded though—As if Bertholdt, Reiner, Connie and I weren’t enough, Connie brought his friend Sasha over to play video games with Marco and I often, and this kinda scary chick named Annie came to hang out with the boyfriends pretty much every day. Needless to say, I quickly tired of being around them all the time, and on those days where I needed a breather, I chilled with Marco in his room.  
Those evenings were some of my favorites. We didn’t do much; watched movies, messed around on the internet a bit, chatted… it was always so nice and comforting, though. I never wanted to leave. Marco was my best friend, and I sorely hoped the feeling was mutual.  
  
I was lost in my thoughts of Marco, when I noticed something odd in the distance….. there was a small group of people at the edge of the walkway, and a short blond person at the center.  
  
 _Is Armin getting jumped again?_ I thought carelessly. _They’re gonna get their asses kicked if Mikasa’s around….maybe I should help the little man out?_  
But upon closer inspection, I realized that it _wasn’t_ Armin… it was a small and helpless _girl_. An honest mistake, really.  
  
 _Oh, hey, it’s Marco!_ I almost hadn’t been able to pick him out from the rest of the guys surrounding him. Uh oh. There were guys surrounding hi-  
I could have sworn that my heart stopped when I saw this, but _some guy just punched Marco in the face, who the fuck does he think he is._  
I jumped to my feet then, eyes wide and blood boiling. Marco reeled back, his arm around the girl, and something dark was dripping from his nose…  
  
 _“AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!”  
_ I ran at them at full speed, an angry scream tearing through my throat. Who the _fuck_ thought they could mess with Marco and get away with it, and why the _fuck_ wasn’t Marco beating the shit out of them- he could totally do it, I knew he could, so why the hell wasn’t he? He can _not_ seriously be so nice as to let some assholes beat him around-  
  
No more thinking, only ass-kicking now.  
  
I flew forward with all the strength and spring power in my legs, and I dropkicked that motherfucker, the very same motherfucker that thought it would be ok to just punch Marco in the face. Marco was carrying the girl away, and that vaguely registered in the back of my mind as _maybe_ the reason he didn’t fight back, but I was seeing far too much red at that point to even care.  
  
Standing on the chest of the guy I’d just dropkicked, the rest of the jackasses came at me, and I lunged at the first one that even got close.  
Hooking my hands around the back of his head, I swung him down and brought my knee up into his nose, an audible ‘ _crack’_ resounding from his face, blood spouting from his nostrils instantly. Pain in my ass, it was- stained my fucking jeans.  
  
Just then, one of the guys came up and punched me— _hard_ —in the stomach, and I doubled over, the wind having been knocked right out of me. As I struggled for breath, he grabbed me by a fistful of my hair, kicking my knees in from behind and swinging my face to the ground. My cheek was dug into the concrete, and I could taste blood. The guy I’d busted up with my knee ran forward and kicked me in the ribs, and I yelped—I swore to _god_ if he broke any of my ribs-  
Two of the men pulled me up and held my arms behind my back, the tallest one still recovering from being slammed into the ground while the remaining two sneered at me. One grabbed me by the shirt and jerked me forward. “Who. The fuck. Are you?” he asked. His mouth was far too close to my face, and his breath reeked.  
“Who the fuck are _you_?” I shot back.  
“I asked you first!” he yelled.  
“I asked you second!” I then decided to do something particularly lewd, but I was so pissed, who even fucking cares. I spat blood at him.  
  
They started pounding on me, busting my lip and probably cracking another rib or two. Those fuckers could punch _hard_ , and I was just wondering if I had been abandoned to get the shit beat out of me when this wild, long legged freckled chick busted in out of nowhere and kicked one of them upside the head.  
“What the fuck!” one of my captors yelled, right before she elbowed him in the face.  
  
What the fuck indeed.  
A surge of déjà vu flooded through me when I looked at her, and…. _Oh god. Oh god. Ignore it. Ignore it.  
_ I had seen her before.  
And I knew where I had seen her. _Just forget about it, dammit, we’re not going through this shit again.  
_  
As long as she was helping me serve up a nice hot plate of ass beating, then I sort of couldn’t care less where I had seen her, right? It didn’t matter.  
 She was a wicked fighter, anyway. I slung the other guy off of me and turned to punch him square in the face, his head spinning to the side so quickly that I heard his neck pop. I turned away from him just in time to see one of the men lunging at me, but the leggy chick grabbed him from behind and swung him up, bridging backwards and driving him to the ground. Another of the guys ran at her to take advantage of her vulnerable position, but I grabbed him from behind and slung him into the guy behind me who I’d just punched, kicking both of them to the ground from behind and giving her time to spring back up. Things continued like that for a few minutes, me and her watching each other’s backs and fending the men off, but then Connie came out of nowhere and joined the mix.  
  
He got smacked upside the head by the taller man.  
“Connie, what the hell are you doing!?” I said, recovering from another punch in the stomach and driving my elbow into the other guy’s face.  
“Helping you out!” he said, as though it should be obvious. He punched the tall guy, giving him an uppercut and sending him reeling back. “You always manage to get into deep shit, don’t you?” he said, the tall girl kicking one guy in the stomach and sending him in my direction. I grabbed him by the arm and flipped him over my back, sending him to the ground.  
  
There was a sudden cheer, and I looked around to see that we had an audience- near a hundred or so passersby had accumulated and were all standing around, watching us beat the shit out of each other. “GET HIM CONNIE!” came a scream, and I caught sight of Sasha bouncing enthusiastically in the crowd before one of the men took a swing at me. I just barely moved in time, but he still managed to catch my cheekbone, which quite frankly, hurt like hell. I swung my knee up into his side, and he doubled over. “Anybody else wanna fucking join in on this!?” I asked, exasperated, and just then Eren fucking Jaeger came outta nowhere. Just like everyone else in the past ten minutes.  
  
“What do _you_ want?” I said, stepping back as the tall chick threw a guy.  
“What the hell is going on!? What do you think you’re doing?”  
“What does it fucking look like I’m doing!?” I told him, punching one of the guys in the jaw and kicking another from behind.  
“Getting your ass whooped,” he said.  
“Dude, just fucking go away, this doesn’t concern you!”  
“I actually came to help you, quit being so damn pissy all the time!”  
“If you had actually wanted to help, you’d be doing that already! Just leave!”  
“JEAN, JUST LET ME HELP-“  
“STAY OUT OF THIS, JEAGER!”  
  
Mikasa came up behind him then, with perfect timing, and dragged him back into the crowd by his collar, scolding him. She pulled him back to where Armin was standing, at the front of the crowd of spectators, and our eyes met. He just shrugged at me, as though to say, _“Sorry, you know how Eren is.”  
_  I scowled back, and one of the men took advantage of my distraction to punch me across the face.  
The three of us continued like that, and to be completely honest, it sort of got difficult to keep track of who was hitting who; I think two of the men got so confused that they started beating one another, not realizing that they were on the same fucking side. I paid careful attention so as not to hurt the freckled lady or Connie. We actually worked together quite well; the chick had one guy in a chokehold telling Connie to, “GET HIM, BALDY,” and so he ran up and knocked the guy out, telling her, “DON’T CALL ME THAT!”  
  
We were all bonding already. Good times for all.  
  
At one point, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Reiner, Annie and Bertholdt, talking to Marco and the girl he’d carried to safety. Marco had a tissue to his nose, which was thoroughly soaked with blood, and I felt a little hurt that he had just been sitting on the sidelines while I got beat to the ground…  
  
I didn’t have a lot of time to dwell on it though; Reiner and Annie were quick to join us.  
“How’s it going, Jean?” Reiner said, smiling as he grabbed the two guys who were fighting each other and slammed their heads together.  
“I’ve had better days!” I called back, watching in astonishment as Annie effortlessly knocked one guy right on his ass.  
We probably could have put the guys in the hospital with their help, if we weren’t interrupted.  
  
“PUBLIC SAFETY! HURRY, SCRAMBLE!”  
We all froze.  
And we were fucking _gone_.  
The crowd disappeared, the other guys picked up their unconscious friend and took off, and we all did the same. Together, we raced off towards the dining hall. I looked back to make sure Marco was with us.  
  
He was.

* * *

  
“We kicked some serious ass, my man!” Connie grinned, leaning across the table to pound fists with me, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at that…  
I felt great, and I blamed the adrenaline for that.  
All of us were gathered in the dining hall together, seated around two or three tables that we’d shoved together to accommodate our large group. Marco sat across from me, his nose purpled and swollen, but he was wearing that silly little grin of his, so he was alright. Next to him, to his right was the cute little blond girl he’d stepped in for—her name was Christa, and she was undeniably cute. Everything from her eyes to her hair to her voice to her laugh was angelic, and I felt a surge of pride, knowing that my best friend had been the one to pluck her out of that mess. Next to Christa sat Ymir, the tomboyish freckled woman who had stepped in to help me in the fight. Ymir, as it turns out, was Christa’s recent girlfriend, so that answered the question of why Ymir had helped me.  
  
Reiner and Bertholdt sat next to me, Annie at the end, and our entire table was probably the loudest in the building; Sasha, who’d joined us and was standing to my right, was entertaining us all with a mini reenactment of the entire fight, pointing out her favorite parts while we all watched and laughed and joked around. Somewhere in the middle of her play-by-play, Eren, Armin and Mikasa had joined us, pulling up chairs at the end of the table near Annie.  
I was still a bit annoyed with Jaeger, but I shook the feeling away, instead deciding to enlighten Marco- he was staring at the trio with confusion and interest. I pointed them out to him, and gave him a rough rundown of what they’re like, and he said that he’s got Armin as a classmate in his History class. Lucky bastard.  
“If you’re ever having trouble in that class or you have to do a group project, go to him—he’s saved my ass in more than a few classes back in high school.”  
  
“Alright, guys, let’s all give it up for Marco, the guy who valiantly rescued and protected our dear, sweet Christa,” Reiner boomed, getting to his feet and raising his cup of Sierra Mist.

There were several woops and shouts of praise as everyone at the table around me stood up, and I joined them, raising my drink along with everyone else. Marco was still seated though, a blush coloring his cheeks as he looked around at everyone, wide-eyed and flustered. He stared at me, mouth gaping open, but I just shrugged at him. What was _I_ supposed to do? _Just go with it, man.  
_ “To Marco,” Connie announced gleefully. “Who cares if he pretty much got his face rearranged!?”  
Marco winced at that, and so did I—the image of that guy’s fist smacking into Marco’s face came to mind, and I involuntarily squeezed my cup a bit too hard, feeling the plastic bend a little.  
Reiner elbowed me in the ribs, and I almost cried out at that, since I was sure one or two of them were already broken. “Relax,” he said in a low voice.  
I sighed, watching as Christa kissed Marco on the cheek, and seeing how red he turned, I thought the guy was gonna explode. All he had to do was swoop in and carry her away while I stayed behind and got the shit beat out of me, and he gets a kiss out of it. A kiss on the _cheek_ , but a kiss all the same.  
  
“Come on, Marco, get in on this!” Sasha encouraged, holding her cup higher than was even necessary; it was directly over her head. She stuffed a few French fries in her cheeks as she said that, and Marco finally stood. We all then proceeded to clink our shitty plastic cups together, and I offhandedly wondered what my parents would think if they could see this “toast”.  
As soon as we sat back down, I said, “What the hell? Your ass would be wrecked if I hadn’t shown up, and you’re reaping all the benefits!?”  
He let out a low chuckle, then he reached over and grabbed my hand. He was warm.  
“Oh, _Jean_ ,” he sighed, and the way my name floated off his lips made my face feel incredibly warm, my heart hammering in my chest. What the hell was wrong with me. “It’s ok, you’re _my_ hero.” He fluttered his eyelashes at me like he was some kind of girl, but with his large, brown eyes-  
I spluttered and yanked my hand away from him, my face only heating up more when everyone laughed. _This is dumb_ , I thought.  
  
Ymir leaned over Christa then, her arm around her tiny shoulders, and said, “Oi, Marco, remember how I said I wasn’t done with you?”  
Marco visibly tensed up at that.  
“Hey, relax, will ya? I just wanted to invite you to my party next week! Thursday night on Halloween, you’re free to bring any friends you like.”  
“Oh!” he said, relaxing a bit. “Well, I, uh..” He seemed a bit nervous about going.  
The entire table erupted into shouts and complaints and cheers.  
Connie said, “Hey, Marco, go so that you can bring me!”  
“Me too!” Sasha yelled.  
“You guys can already come,” Reiner rumbled next to me, gesturing towards Bertholdt and Annie before saying, “We’re going too.”  
 _What?_  
“How is it that you were _already_ invited?” I asked, and Bertholdt nervously replied, “W-well, we were already friends with Ymir, so-“  
“I’ve known her since even _I_ was a freshman,” Reiner agreed.  
  
My stomach clenched painfully at that. How the hell did all of us become so intertwined with each other?  
  
In the end, it turned out that every fucking person at that table decided to go, even Marco. As he said that, everyone cheered, but his eyes were on me, dead serious. As if to say, “ _We’ll_ go” instead of “ _I’ll_ go”. I grimaced, not even bothering to fight him on it. I shuddered to think of leaving this kid alone at a party though. No offense to him, I loved the guy, but he didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d been to many parties.  
  
The rest of the meal was spent in idle chatter, all of us joking around and discussing the fight from earlier. I dropped out of the conversation quickly though, my stomach quickly becoming upset as I looked around at everyone at our table.  
When I looked at the way Ymir had her arm around Christa, the déjà vu returned. How could this have happened? As if Armin, Eren and Mikasa weren’t bad enough, as soon as I get to college, I find the rest of them.  
None of the faces at the table were unfamiliar to me.  
A strange feeling that could only be described as ‘nostalgia’ rose up in my chest, a longing for something that had passed. I’d been here before. Eating around a table with all of these people. And then-  
 _“Do I know you from somewhere?”_  
Oh god. Oh my fucking god.  
 _Why is this happening to me!?_  
  
“Jean?” It was Marco. “You alright? You don’t look too good…”  
I looked up at him, only managing a small nod. The rush of familiarity when I looked at him was too overwhelming, I couldn’t do it.  
“I need to use the restroom,” I mumbled, pushing away from the table. As soon as I was out of sight from the table, I ran.  


* * *

  
I was curled over the toilet, vomit spewing from my throat and pouring into the water. I hadn’t eaten much, but whatever was in my stomach at the time was hastily evacuating the area.  
Eren, Armin, Mikasa.  
Reiner and Bertholdt.  
Annie.  
Connie.  
Sasha.  
Ymir and Christa.  
And Marco.  
  
 _They were all there.._  
Their faces were burned into my mind, memories of tan jackets and man-eating giants and walls that rose up into forever.  
 _Not memories,_ I corrected myself. _Dreams… they’re only dreams. It’s not real. It never was._  
  
When I’d moved into Maria with Connie, Reiner and Bertholdt, I’d ignored it. When Annie and Sasha came over, I’d ignored it. Ymir and Christa? Hell yeah, I’ll _still_ ignore it.  
Marco was going to be more difficult. I still wasn’t even sure if he was in the dreams, though. It was just a burning familiarity that I couldn’t place.  
Leaning away from the porcelain bowl, I shut my eyes tight, trying to remember…  
 _Freckles. Black hair. Brown eyes. A little taller than me. Best smile in the world. My favorite laugh…_  
I couldn’t see him there. I was drawing a blank. And that disturbed me.  
I got up off the cold tile floor and flushed the toilet, walking to the sink to wash my mouth out and wipe my face.  
  
 _You’re going crazy, Jean_ , I told myself, staring back at the pathetic man in the mirror. The fluorescent lights above me cast my eyes in shadow as I scowled at myself. _Who even gets this worked up over dreams!? Children and crazy people, that’s who.  
_ I closed my eyes, took a deep and massive breath, and slowly, ever so slowly, let it out. It was my way of trying to exhale the panic away. And then I headed back out to join the others.  
Somehow, I managed to smile and laugh with the others. And Marco seemed relieved.

* * *

  
The following week went by quickly—I successfully pushed aside my panic and worry, all the way to the back of my mind. It was only too easy to relax around Marco, and I came to crave the comfort I felt around him. Hell, we even skipped a few classes to spend time together. It wasn’t like I would be able to focus much on my work anyway. Clarity of mind only came with the presence of Marco.  
  
“Ymir throws the best parties,” Reiner had assured us, when Marco and I had expressed wariness about going the night before. “They’re actually pretty rare, but worth it. The only reason she’s even throwing a Halloween party this year is to celebrate her newly established relationship with Christa. She’s taken a liking to her like no other.”  
It wasn’t like anyone was gonna let us _not_ go to the party, either, so whatever the circumstances, we would just have to suck it up and deal with it.  
“It’s not like there’ll be a ton of people there, though,” Bertholdt had said. “Ymir is pretty choose-y about who she lets wreck her house. And also, w-well, you didn’t hear this from me,” he lowered his voice, “But she’s not the most socially-adept girl in the world. She actually kinda ends up pushing a lot of people away with her insensitivity, and she even scares some. D-don’t get me wrong, though, Ymir’s pretty cool.”  
That seemed to quell some of Marco’s unspoken fears, as he seemed visibly calmer after that. I was then much more certain about my assumption that Marco hadn’t been to many parties.  
  
The next evening, Armin picked us up in his SUV as the last batch of attendees. Marco had volunteered to drive me and a few others to Ymir’s (who was a commuter and had her own house), but Armin dismissed the idea without a second thought.  
“I’ve already decided to be a designated driver, so I’ll just pick you up when I come for the second round of people,” he said. Marco said nothing. Personally, I approved of Armin’s plan, since I’d rather not die due to drunk driving. You never knew, after all; shit happens.  
Marco still seemed to feel a little guilty about having Armin pick us up though, and apologized profusely, but Armin really didn’t seem to care, and told him that it really wasn’t that big of a deal.  
  
We were the last to arrive at Ymir’s.  
When we walked in, the music was blaring, and there weren’t really too many people there; I myself had been to quite a few house parties in high school that’d been so packed, that drunk teenagers flooded the street. I’d even thrown a few, mostly in a ploy to piss off my parents, but still. Standing in the front room, Marco still seemed to feel a bit out of place, I could tell. He was staring curiously at the two frilly dresses hanging on the wall opposite us, and, well, that really was an odd sight.  
A large portion of the people were dancing in the hallways and sitting room, several already shitfaced. It was too early in the night for that.  
Several others were just lounging around in the sitting room, drinking and joking around. Bertholdt, Annie and Reiner were in the latter group, and as soon as they saw us, Bertholdt got up to speak to us.  
  
“I, uh, figured I should give you guys fair warning, Jean in particular,” he said, glancing franticly between us and the dresses on the wall, “Don’t get into a fight with anyone. There’s a rule at Ymir’s parties that those who start fights have to wear the dresses, then fight in them.”  
I exchanged a questioning frown with Marco, and Bertholdt continued, “It’s just to discourage wrecking her house too much. B-but, there were two guys who started fighting at one of her parties last year, and… well, it was definitely the highlight of the night.”  
  
We nodded understandingly, and he went back to sit next to Reiner on the couch. “I really hope someone gets into a fight, then,” I grinned. _Hopefully someone I don’t like.  
_ Marco laughed in agreement.  
  
“HEY, GET BACK IN THE BASEMENT, WEEDIE, YOU CAN’T BE UP HERE SMELLING LIKE THAT!” someone screamed, and Marco and I watched as Connie suddenly ran through the crowd and down the hallway, Ymir hot on his heels. Seeing us, she made an abrupt stop. “Heeeey, so it’s the guest of honor!” she said, referring to Marco, then scowled. “Your bald friend is breaking the rules about marijuana staying in the basement.”  
 _Typical Connie,_ I thought.  
She then took off, darting through the throngs of dancers that clogged the hallway. Shrugging, we followed her, and were lead straight into the kitchen. The music was the least loud in there, with pizza boxes lining the counters and bottles of soda. On the floor was a massive cooler, filled to the brim with booze, no doubt. We found Connie trying to sneak away with an entire box of pizza.  
“Heeeeey,” Ymir scolded, “You can’t take the whole box, I don’t care _how_ starving you are. Put it back.”  
“But it’s for Sasha,” he complained. “Do you even know what she’s like when she’s hungry?”  
A strange, low, grating sound that could only be labeled as ‘dying whale noises’ could be heard from below, somehow overpowering the sounds of the blaring music and loud drunks.  
“Dear lord, take it. Take it and go back to the basement, you hear?” Ymir said, and Connie grinned appreciatively, folding up the box and making his way out from the kitchen. “Oooh, heeeeeeey Jean, Marco,” he said, nodding to each of us in turn as he passed by, bloodshot eyes failing to focus on us.  
  
We stared after him for a moment.  
“Yeeeaaaaah, we’re not joining Connie and Sasha with the Stoners,” I said.  
“Didn’t plan on it,” he agreed. So we decided to sit down at the kitchen table together, and I grabbed several cans of beer, setting them on the tabletop between us. I cracked a can open, saying, “You know how to hold your booze down?”  
  
He stared at me. Just stared.  
I stared back. And then I realized…  
“Y… you’ve never drank before!?” This was a stunning revelation. I thought everyone drank! What the heck!  
“Nope,” he said, matter-of-factly.  
“You mean to tell me, that in all your eighteen years of life, you’ve never _once_ consumed alcohol?”  
“ _Nineteen_ years,” he said, “And yes that’s exactly what I’m saying.”  
I paused, thinking. “Nineteen? Wait, when’s your birthday!?”  
“Sixteenth of June.”  
“You’re a whole year older than me, but you’re still a freshman?”  
He looked down then, almost bashful, and I wondered if I'd said something I shouldn’t have. “Ah, well,” he said, “after high school, I spent a year working two jobs to help pay for college, so… yeah.”  
Well this was news to me. “Huh… you never told me that.”  
He shrugged. “You never asked.”  
  
“Fair enough,” I sighed. “That just means I’m gonna have to keep a close eye on you. But there’s no way in hell that I’m about to miss out on watching Marco Bodt get wasted for the first time.”  
He squinted at me then. “What makes you think I’m gonna get wasted!?”  
 _Oh, naïve, naïve Marco…_ I thought, resting my head in my hand with my elbow on the table, giving him a smug expression as I sipped at my beer. Well, it certainly tasted like shit, but I’d tasted shittier, so this would be fine. I nodded towards one of the cans on the table, and back at him.  
  
He rolled his brown eyes at me and reached for a can, popping it open. He looked at it cautiously, then took a small sip.  
The look on his face was priceless; a disgusted grimace that wrinkled his nose, eyes squinting. “Not gonna lie, this stuff tastes _vile,”_ he said to me. I still refused to say anything, opting to instead take another drink.  
Watching me, he took a second gulp, much bigger than the first, then smirked at me. “You expect me to get drunk on something I can barely even drink?” he asked.  
“Tell me what your high school was like, Marco,” I said.  
“Wh-what?”  
“Tell me what your high school was like.”  
 _Let’s just get you talking…  
  
_ He looked a little bewildered and a lot confused, but he still did as I asked. He told me what his high school was like. He’d had a girlfriend who he hadn’t gotten very far with and they’d had a falling out that he wouldn’t elaborate on no matter how much I bugged him, he had a teacher who hated his guts and failed him on purpose, he was apparently really good on piano and I made him promise to play for me sometime. I did my best to keep the conversation going, watching as he would subconsciously take drinks from his can. As the conversation droned on and on and on and on, his sips became more and more frequent, and I noticed that whenever I took a swig, he did too. Heh.  
He emptied his can sooner than I thought he would, so I took it upon myself to take it from him and replace it with a new one, even being so courteous as to open it for him.  
  
He stared at me blankly for a minute, as though trying to decipher in his mind what had just happened. I guessed that he hadn’t really been all that aware of how much he’d been drinking…  
“Well?” I said, bringing my lips to my drink. “Go on.”  
“Uh… where, was I again?” he asked, the hint of a slur in his voice. The corner of my mouth twitched up into an odd half-smile.  
“You were telling me about your traumatic childhood events involving Furbies.”  
“Oh… right.”  
  
We sat there talking for several hours. My initial plan had been to not consume anymore than three or four cans, but I actually hadn’t kept track. Our empty cans had mingled together on the table, but I decided that it wasn’t a big deal and just didn’t worry about it. As time went on, Marco’s slurs increased, a slight tint of pink blooming behind his freckles. I had to admit, sitting there and listening to Marco’s bubbling laugh, I was _maybe_ a bit tipsy… his voice was incredibly warm and inviting, and I found that I… I was distracted.. just a little.  
His mouth.  
His lips, and how they curved around each word.  
The flick and twist of his tongue as it formed consonances.  
My mind suddenly played with the thought of what it’d be like, with my mouth pressed to his…  
 _Warm probably…  
_ My lips tingled, and I licked the sensation away.  
If he noticed I wasn’t looking at his eyes, he didn’t say anything, maybe he was drunk already…  
 _Maybe he’ll forget if I…  
  
_ “Careful Marco, Jean tends to kiss a lot when he’s drunk.”  
I jumped back, startled out of my thoughts at the sight of Eren, who was standing behind Marco.  
 _What the fuck just happened!?_ My heart hammered in my chest, eyes wide with fear and confusion.  
 _I didn’t even drink that much, I swear to god, I’m not gay, it’s the fucking alcohol, I promise, oh god that was so damn close, thank you Eren.  
  
_ “Jaeger, shut the fuck up!” I yelled defensively. Marco turned to look at Eren and knocked a few cans off the table in the process.  
“I just thought I’d give him fair warning!” Eren shouted back. He seemed exasperated. “You _do_ kiss when you’re drunk, you _know_ you do. More importantly, _Mikasa_ knows you do!”  
  
“I said to shut the fuck up!” I leapt up from my chair, ignoring the loud bang and clatter of wood hitting linoleum as it fell to the side. “We were fifteen, for fuck’s sake!” I went on, trying to save my pride. I should have just stopped, my pride was fucked from the beginning. “If I recall correctly, that was around the same time _you_ were tied to the flagpole and got your _ass kicked-“  
_ “That has nothing to do with this!” Eren barked, his hands balling up into little fists at his sides. “While we’re on the subject of dumb shit we did in high school, who was the one who ran up to Mikasa on the first day of school like a complete dumbass and said _‘I’ve had dreams about you, let’s get married and have a dozen children’_!?”  
 _Fucking hell, please stop right there._  
“I NEVER SAID THAT!”  
“You might as well have! You _always_ went on and on about your fucking stupid-ass dreams, like any of us even gave a shit! Who would even believe such bullshit in the first place!?”  
I felt my pulse quicken, eyes growing wide and panic welling up inside me. _Why won’t he fucking stop, just stop, I don’t want to talk about those, just leave me alone!  
_ “They weren’t bullshit, Jaeger, shut your fucking mouth! Just shut up and stop talking!”  
A muscle beneath one of Eren’s eyes twitched. “Or what? You’ll have another nightmare about me and come running and crying like that one time!?”  
 _Eren. In the back of the neck of the giant. No, the Titan-_  
 _STOP!!!_  
  
“WE THOUGHT YOU HAD DIED, YOU ASSHOLE!” I lunged at him, Eren backing up into the wall and I grabbed him by the shirt, hoisting him up to my eye level. I slammed him back into the wall again, my breathing fast and pulse loud in my ears. There was a clatter of another can hitting the floor behind me, but I couldn’t care less. “WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS SO DAMN RECKLESS!?” I shouted into his face, outraged and furious and _scared._  
“WHAT ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT!?” he yelled back.  
  
I was vaguely aware of Armin’s sudden appearance then, his voice saying over the music, “Eren!? Jean, what are you doing!?”  
  
“JEAN!” That was Marco. I felt him pulling at me, his arms circling under mine and over my shoulders, but he couldn’t pry me off, my grip on Eren unfaltering as I snarled at him. “JEAN, LOOK AT ME!” I heard him scream into my ear, and I had never heard his voice so loud and booming and _angry_. I paused, my hold on Eren’s shirt loosening.  
  
“Is someone fighting!?” someone yelled excitedly from the hallway, and remembering the rule about the dresses from earlier, I dropped Jaeger to the floor.  
I was still staring at him. Dazed, and wide eyed… my heart was still beating a mile a minute, the image of him still in my mind, strips of steaming flesh coming off his face and limbs, and- _Oh god stop, just stop._  
  
“Take care of Eren, I’m… taking Jean outside… Ok?” I heard Marco say, and I turned to look at him instead, tearing my eyes away from Eren in the hopes that it would help me forget.  
All the sudden, his hand was on my arm, and he pulled me along, dragging me though the hallway. “I don’t want to go outside!” I said, my voice hoarse from screaming.  
“It’s outside or the dress,” he said, a massive crowd of people flooding into the narrow passageway we were walking through. They were heading towards the kitchen. “I heard them over here!” said one.  
“I wonder who was fighting,” said another.  
Marco was right, we should get out of there.  
I obediently followed him, struggling to keep my footing as he barreled into walls and furniture and stationary people, but we eventually made it to the outside world.

* * *

  
Cool nighttime air filled our lungs as we sat there, shoulder to shoulder, on the steps of Ymir’s front porch.  
  
I leaned forward, my eyes were clenched shut and my head was in my hands. I could feel Marco’s eyes on me, but I refused to acknowledge him for the moment.  In the quiet darkness, I focused on slowing my breathing, calming my heart, and I don’t know how long it took, but I was eventually breathing at a normal pace again. I looked up, out across the lawn.  
“Are you ok?” Marco asked quietly.  
I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him just yet. Instead, I sucked in as much air as my lungs could possibly hold, and slowly, slowly, as slowly as I could manage, let it all out… exhaling the stress and fear and panic out into the night, watching them fly up, up and away, over the rooftops to join the twinkling stars above us.  
“I’m fine,” I said.  
“….Do you want to talk about it?” He tried. And I shrugged. _No, I do not want to talk about it, I don’t even want to_ think _about it. Please just drop it. Just let me sit here next to you. Please._  
“Jean? What was Eren talking about? What nightmares?” I shook my head, thinking, _That’s exactly the thing I don’t want to talk about, Marco, just stop worrying about it._  
  
“Come back, Jean.” His voice cracked. And I could have sworn something else in my chest cracked with it.  
“I’m…. right here, man. I’m right here.” I stared at him, confused, and concerned. He sighed.  
“You really don’t want to talk about it?” he said.  
I frowned, letting a scowl melt over my features as I let my thoughts stray away. “Did you know that I’ve never had that many friends?” I mumbled.  
 _JEAN WHAT ARE YOU TELLING HIM. STOP SAYING THINGS, IT’S TOO SOON FOR THIS.  
_ “O-oh…?”  
I chewed at my bottom lip, unsure of how much I should say. “Yeah. And… not that many people have been very close to me.”  
“……”  
“I feel like… you’re the closest to me that anyone’s ever gotten.”  
I snapped my mouth shut, and I kept quiet, waiting for Marco to say something. He didn’t, and I was scared.  
“S-say something,” I stuttered. Peeking out of the corner of my eye, I could see him raising his eyebrows at me.  
“Like what?” he said.  
“Like, how stupid what I’m saying is!”  
“But I don’t think it’s stupid at all.”  
“…Really?”  
“Really,” he confirmed.  
  
I sat there next to him, his shoulder against mine. I wondered if he even realized how close he was to me right now, his face leaned in close to mine. I thought that Marco was just really touchy and up-close-and-personal when he was drunk. I was right at the time, more right than I thought I was, but I wouldn’t learn that for some time.  
  
“So… am I your best friend?” he prodded, and I could feel my face heat up instantly.  
“W-well… yeah, of course! That’s a dumb ass question, of course you are.” I glanced at him and looked quickly away, embarrassed, and he was wearing the sweetest smile. Nervous, I picked and pulled and fidgeted with the sleeves of my hoodie, my fingers growing numb in the cold. “Am… I _your_ best friend?” I asked.  
He nudged into me with his shoulder, pushing himself closer to me. “Yeah, you are.”  
A strange and giddy happiness fluttered up from my stomach, pulling my lips up into a tiny smile.  
  
“I feel lonely whenever I’m with anybody else,” I blurted out. _SHIT_. I was so reckless when I was tired and tipsy, I couldn’t believe what I was telling him. I stiffened up immediately, my eyes growing wide as my heart beat picked up the pace.  
“Keep going,” he encouraged. “What do you mean?”  
I stared at him for a long moment. “I’m listening,” he said, his voice so soft and comforting that I couldn’t help but trust him.  
  
Preparing myself, I took a massive breath, then looked down at my feet. “I feel lonely whenever I’m with anybody else,” I repeated, then finished the thought with, “But… not when I’m with you.”  
  
I took a second to gather my thoughts before continuing. “I don’t get along with people, Marco, I… not a lot of people understand me. And it’s my fault for being so hard to understand, but still…” I pulled my arms in to my stomach, hunching forward, as though trying to quell its nervous churning. “I’ve felt like, for a long time, I don’t exist on the same plane as everybody else… at least, emotionally. I don’t click with anybody, and nobody connects with me on an emotional level, and I… I’m really lonely.”  
  
Telling him this was really frightening for me; I’d never told anybody this about me before, and I was afraid of how he would react, or what he would say. He wouldn’t make fun of me, he was much too nice to do that, but… would he at least take this seriously? What would he be thinking?  
  
“Everyone else seems to have people they instantly connect with, people who understand every aspect of them, and I didn’t think I would ever find someone who could be there for me like that…”  
  
There was a moment of silence. Then, “Do, uh… do you think I could? Y’know… be that kind of person? For you?”  
I kept my eyes trained on the stairs at my feet. _Yes, you and only you._ “Maybe.”  
He shifted next to me. “Jean?”  
“Yeah?”  
I felt his hand on my shoulder, its heat and warmth spreading throughout my body. “I’ll find you. Whatever plane of existence you’re walking around on right now, I’ll go looking for you, and I’ll find you.”  
He had no idea the importance of what he’d just said. That was all I wanted to hear. That was all I needed from him, and he’d just assured me that he would make it happen. I could never thank him enough.  
“…..Thanks, Marco,” was all I could manage to whisper.  
  
We sat there like that for a little while, basking in the presence of one another while we huddled up and shivered in our jackets, the cold air biting at my fingers and the tip of my nose.  
I wanted to just sit there with him forever.  
I smirked. _Forever, with Marco?  
  
_ He abruptly pulled his hand from my shoulder and leaned over the side of the cement porch steps.  
“Marco!?”  
I watched as his back rocked and heaved, and the sound of something splatting to the ground answered me, the aroma of vomit pervading the cool air around us.  
I reached over and patted his back. “Way to ruin the mood, buddy.” He continued to puke his guts up until he was just dry heaving, and in an attempt to soothe the poor guy, I rubbed his back in large slow circles. “Deep breaths,” I told him quietly. “Take slow, deep breaths.”  
  
I sighed.  
 _Forever with Marco doesn’t sound half bad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yehaw, alright guys, I know I promised I'd get this up yesterday, but I spent that entire day reading sad fanfiction and watching SnK videos on youtube. Sooo..... yeah. ^^; It was a nice break, though.
> 
> Considering how long these chapters tend to be, and that I'm writing both points of view, I think slowing these updates down to around once a week would be a smart move on my part. So, just expect weekly updates, and if I post more than that, then hey, you get a (hopefully) pleasant surprise!  
> So yeah, the next chapter isn't even started yet, so it won't be up tomorrow. Sorry!
> 
> I will be updating really soon regardless, though. Thanks for all the comments and kudos, you guys are awesome!!! <3


	4. Merciful Cruelty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even longer than Marco's POV of this chapter.  
> Jean struggles with his nightmares and pride, and we see a bit of Armin in this chapter. :)  
> Enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> [Click here for Marco's POV!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/991568/chapters/2004871)

 

I had a dream the other night  
About how we only get one life  
Woke me up right after two  
Stayed awake and stared at you  
So I wouldn't lose my mind

And I had the week that came from hell  
And yes I know that you can tell  
But you're like the net under the ledge  
If I go flying off the edge  
You go flying off as well

And if you only die once I wanna die with  
You got something I need  
In this world full of people there's one killing me  
And if we only die once I wanna die with you  
-OneRepublic ( _Something I Need)_

* * *

  
“Ah!”  
  
I sat bolt upright in my bed, chest heaving with each intake of breath.  
The first thing I registered was that it was dark. I am an ace detective, in case you couldn’t tell. The second, was that I could barely move my legs. I realized that my sheets were twisted painfully around my calves and ankles, almost tight enough to completely cut off circulation. Fumbling in the darkness, I worked to free myself from the deadly bedding, my hands shaking and fingers twitching like mad. The sound of blood pounding through the blood vessels in my ears was the loudest thing in that room, I found, and I blinked rapidly as sweat dribbled down over my brow and into my eyes.  
“Dumbass dreams,” I whispered to myself, finally managing to loosen the bed sheets. I hated them. I one hundred percent, to my very core, _hated_ them. I would have loved to never have to sleep ever again, to never see what I’d had to see all my life at night. Wiping at the side of my face, I turned to my bedside table and found that it was four thirty-six in the morning, the bright numbers of the digital clock casting everything in an eerie red glow. It was much too early to be awake, Monday morning or not.  
I didn’t care though. I was done trying to sleep.  
  
Throwing my blankets near the end of the bed, I swung my legs over the edge and carefully made my way out of the room, Connie snoring loudly, his drool twinkling in the crimson light of the clock. Navigating my way out of our room in the dark could only ever be likened unto that of traipsing through a minefield—Connie left his shit laying around every-fucking-where. I actually slipped on one of his putrid socks and fell flat on my ass, the loud _thud_ resulting in a hissed string of curses from me and Connie flipping around on his bed, mumbling incomprehensibly in his sleep. Not even bothering to get back on my feet, I crawled out of the room on my hands and knees, frowning unhappily as I went. It was only when my hands found the hard linoleum of the kitchen area’s floor that I rose to my feet, padding quietly over to the cabinets to retrieve a glass.  
 _I never have the nightmares when I’m with Marco_ , I thought sullenly as I filled the glass with tap water, the sound of the pouring liquid melting my edgy demeanor away.  
  
 _Marco…_  
I took several large gulps of water before setting the cup down on the counter, turning it idly around in circles in the dark.  
 _I hope he’s alright._ My musings quickly turned to the previous weekend, going over it in my mind. It’d been just like any other weekend. I’d stayed in Marco’s dorm and messed around with him for a few days. In all honesty, nothing too exciting had happened, just our usual shenanigans. And there weren’t very many clues that suggested he might have something weighing heavily on his mind, so why was I dwelling on it so much? I was overthinking it, surely. Marco was a big boy and could handle his own problems.  
 _You’re just going to end up stressing yourself out for nothing_ , I chided myself, picking up my water and taking a few more sips. But still. As aware as I was that my foundation for worrying about him was weak, it still nagged at the back of my mind. _It’s not even worry, is it? I’m just really nosy._  
  
Anyone else probably wouldn’t have noticed. So either I was imagining things, or I was impressively intuitive towards Marco’s emotional wellbeing. My pride and a strange fluttering in my stomach insisted it to be the latter.  
  
That past weekend had started out simple enough—with a movie marathon. Marco and I weren’t really up for anything too physically or mentally strenuous since it was the night after Ymir’s party, and although we were sufficiently recovered after spending the entire day lazing around in our beds, we were still pretty damn worn out. The party had been emotionally exhausting for me, and I was craving a distraction, something to take my mind off of things. A movie marathon was the most plausible and convenient course of action.  
Nothing particularly too exciting occurred… I didn’t say anything about it, but I could have sworn I felt Marco’s eyes on me for most of the first movie. When I turned to look, though, he was staring straight ahead, eyes trained on the movie with such an intensity that I had a feeling he wasn’t even paying attention to it, only focusing on keeping his eyes forward. I shrugged and returned my attention to the movie, dismissing my suspicions as mere paranoia.  
  
The following Saturday was spent at the mall with Connie and Sasha, and let me tell you, the two of them are a bundle of fucking energy together. Marco and I struggled to keep up with them, and we’d even had to keep them from messing around on the escalators like a couple of brain dead four year olds. I aint gonna lie, though, it was still pretty fun. But not as fun as our pillow fight that night.  
  
I’d just returned from my shower, hastily slipping on my clothes in Marco’s room while he sat on his bed. Once I’d finished, though, I’d turned to find him staring off into space, eyes glazed over and a fairly frustrated expression had turned his eyebrows downward, his mouth set in a soft frown. His gaze was pointed away from me, though, so I couldn’t say for sure… I was watching him from a slight angle. But when he threw his hands over his face, I knew something was up.  
 _But. What should I do….?_ I’d wondered. I was no good with feelings. I didn’t even have the slightest _clue_ as to what could possibly be on his mind. But I had to cheer him up somehow, right? Isn’t that what best friends did for each other?  
In hindsight, this was a miserable method of cheering someone up, but I didn’t know what else to do. So I picked up my pillow and slung it across the room at him.  
It hit him across the side of his face with a muffled ‘ _pomf´_ and nearly threw him to the side.  
“Jean!” he yelled, confusion and shock widening those large brown eyes of his.  
“Head shot!” I cried, pumping my fist in the air in triumph.  
  
He huffed at me, clearly irritated, and launched my pillow right back at me, but he wasn’t very subtle about it… as such, I was given plenty of mental preparation and dodged it with ease. He scrabbled to grab his own pillow off his bed.  
“You really wanna do this?” he said, grinning crookedly, and I swear I saw a wicked glint in his eyes.  
“Hell yeah I wanna do this!” I shouted as I ran at him, my own pillow at the ready.  
  
We pretty much just beat the shit out of each other with pillows. His face whenever I smacked him upside the head was hysterical, and his dark hair would stick out at the oddest angles each time. He returned the sentiment with many a smack to my ass. I couldn’t even count the number of times he’d slammed me from behind with that damn pillow of his.  
  
“You got some sort of fascination with my ass?” I accused, raising an eyebrow maliciously. It was the perfect way to throw him off.  
It worked, of course. My calculations were flawless. “N-no!” he gasped, cheeks flaring up into a wonderful shade of beet red. “I just-!”  
His pillow lowered in his moment of weakness, and I ruthlessly took advantage of it. I lunged forward, jumping off his bed and tackling him to the ground. It was almost too easy to take his pillow, he was so surprised.  
“I win,” I sneered as I flung his pillow across the room. He scowled back up at me, but with his big brown eyes and freckles and messy hair, it was a bit too… _cute_ to be intimidating.  
  
“Come on, man, don’t be a sore loser,” I smiled. “It was just a ga- woah, Marco!? Sto-!!”  
His arms quickly wound around me, and with me locked in his grasp, he flipped us over with ease, effectively turning the tables.  
I tried to squirm away, but he had me trapped under his weight, straddling my hips as he pulled both my wrists up above my head, pinning them to the floor with one hand. It was almost effortless, and I was reminded again of just how _strong_ Marco was. He shifted his weight on me, and I swallowed nervously when I noticed just how vulnerable and exposed I was under him. He quickly ripped my pillow from my fingers and used it to smack me across the face.  
  
“Who’s the winner now?” he said, smug, and I glowered back up at him.  
“Still me,” I said, stubborn. “I took your pillow first, so I’m still the winner!”  
He smirked, and I noticed how he was eyeing my body. The wicked gleam in his eyes returned.  
  
“Are you ticklish, Jean?” he crooned. I tensed up.  
“N-no way,” I stammered, my eyes widening. “I’m a grown man,” I reasoned. “I’m not tickl-MARCO, STO-“  
It was too late. My pillow had flown across the room to join Marco’s, and his fingers were digging mercilessly into one of my underarms. I couldn’t stop my body from convulsing or the uncontrollable laugh that bubbled up and out of my throat, and my stomach muscles beginning to ache from the exertion.  
My lungs were starting to burn from the lack of oxygen when I brought my legs up,  
 knees slamming into Marco’s back.  
  
“Ouch, you dick!” he laughed, releasing my wrists. That wasn’t as much help as you’d think; it only meant that he had _two_ hands to torture me with. And torture me he did.  
“NN-MARC-AHAHAHAA! S-Sto…Marco-Ahahaha! I can’t breath-AHA!”  
I felt my back arch up off the floor as his hands assaulted my sides, and with one last desperate flop and a shove of my hands, I was finally able to throw him off of me, and I rolled away.  
He tried to roll after me, but I pushed him back. “Do that again,” I panted, “and I’ll beat your ass!”  
I may or may not have been smiling as I said that, though, so I’m not sure if he really took me seriously.  
  
We just laid there on the floor liked that, me panting and gasping for breath while he wore that stupid, self-satisfied little grin of his. The smug bastard.  
“Still think you won?” he challenged.  
“Yes,” I growled. I sobered up quickly, though—this pillow fight hadn’t been for nothing, after all. I turned and looked over at Marco, staring deep into his eyes as I recalled his expression from earlier.  
“W-what?” he said, gulping nervously.  
I continued staring at him, my eyes flitting between his and sweeping over his freckled cheeks. Then I said, “I didn’t just throw my pillow at you for no reason.” I propped myself up on one elbow. “You looked like you were thinkin’ about something serious… and you looked a little upset, so I wanted to cheer you up.”  
Now, maybe I was seeing things, but I could have sworn that he blushed a little bit when I said that. “What were you thinking about?” I prodded.  
  
Well, he was _definitely_ blushing after that question. He glanced at the ceiling for a few moments, avoiding my eyes. And then, “I… uh, was just thinking about… a test I have next week. I’m pretty stressed about it, so… yeah.”  
  
 _What. Fucking. Bullshit.  
_ “Don’t fucking lie to me like that. If you don’t want to talk about it, just say so, ok?” I told him, more than a little annoyed. It sort of hurt that he tried to lie to me. And with such a pathetic lie, too.  
  
“Ok!” he said hurriedly, noticing my irritation. “Fine, yeah, I don’t wanna talk about it.” He sighed then, and rolled over onto his back.  
  
We didn’t talk about it after that; I just let the subject end there. Not much I could do if he didn’t wanna talk about it, yeah? The rest of the night was just the usual—we chatted, joked around and poked fun at one another, fucked around on the internet. Marco seemed pretty chill after that.  
  
As for Sunday, nothing out of the ordinary really happened. I ended up dragging him into one of my selfie wars with Eren, and there were a few times were his face went so red, I half expected blood to start leaking from every facial orifice he had. I was to blame for most of it… well, ok, _all_ of it. But I couldn’t just let Jaeger win another selfie war. He always won, and it wasn’t fair.  
  
 I will admit, sitting in Marco’s lap and licking him _was_ pushing it—but hey, Eren straddled Armin, and they were completely fine with it! Well, Eren was at least. Armin didn’t seem all that pleased with the predicament…  
Long story short, Jaeger won _again_ because Marco refused to get into compromising positions with me. Not like I could really blame him, but still.  
  
I downed the rest of my water as I recalled my bitter defeat, standing in the kitchen with my cold toes curling against the linoleum. And, going through the entire weekend in my head, I found that I really _didn’t_ have the nightmares when I was with Marco. For reasons I couldn’t fathom, sleeping in his room sheltered me from my once-inescapable night terrors.  
  
“You ok?”  
  
I almost jumped out of my skin, the glass slipping in my grip.  
“Reiner!” I whispered, hastily placing the cup in the sink. “Don’t fucking do that!”  
Clutching my hand over my racing heart, I turned to look at the broad shadow that was standing in the narrow passageway that led to his and Bertholdt’s room.  
“Sorry,” he murmured. “Why’re you up?”  
“Ah… couldn’t sleep.”  
He remained still for a long second. “Another nightmare?”  
I didn’t answer. All three of the guys obviously knew of the dreams by now—not necessarily what they were of, only that I had them frequently.  
Reiner sighed at my silence, then moved past me towards the bathroom. “Try and get some more sleep, yeah? It’s worth a shot. Maybe you’ll have better dreams a second time,” he said, closing the door behind him.  
  
“Tch.”  
I wasn’t gonna risk it.

* * *

  
Monday morning was foggy and frigid. My coffee was especially satisfying against the chill as I took miniscule sips from the boiling liquid, dodging passing students as I made my way to astronomy, my jacket bundled tightly around me. I could feel the chill biting at the tips of my nose and ears, and I was incredibly pleased to note that the lecture hall’s heat was turned on today. That was always a plus.  
  
As I sat there, guzzling my Starbucks, I tapped my foot impatiently, waiting for Marco. After my dream this morning, I was eager to bask in his comforting presence. Something about him washed all my anxieties away, and left me feeling warm inside.  
But Marco didn’t show up until almost thirty seconds before the lecture started. Which was… more than a little strange. He appeared rather frazzled as well, considering his wind-blown hair and flushed cheeks. He smiled sheepishly at me, and I smirked back, turning to the front as the professor lowered the projector; he’d slept in and had to run to class, I guessed. It seemed like the only plausible explanation.  
  
Astronomy, as usual, was a complete bore, but I took notes nonetheless. Failing wasn’t an option for me; my parents would have my ass, and I preferred dealing with them as little as possible. The lecture seemed to drone on and on for eternity, until a sharp _‘smack’_ echoed around the room. I whipped around, searching for the source of the interruption. But there was only Marco, a hand clapped to his reddening face. He peeked between his fingers at me, and I cocked an eyebrow at him.  
  
Shrugging and waving at me, he had a strained smile on his lips, so I let him off the hook and turned around. But I wasn’t about to just let that go. That was really _weird._ What the fuck was he even thinking about!?  
I would just grill him for answers after class, that’s what I decided. I returned to my notes in the meantime, until the damn lecture was finally over with and the two of us walked to lunch together. We discussed trivial things on our way, like studying and what we hoped would be on the dining hall’s menu that day.  
  
It wasn’t until we were seated and eating that I really felt the need to question him.  
Correction: it wasn’t until we were seated and _I_ was eating. Marco was just picking at his food. As I watched, his eyes lazily glazed in and out of focus, his brows scrunching up. He seemed to be in deep thought. I set my silverware on my plate, the _‘clink’_ of metal on glass ringing in my ears.  
  
“Hey… are you ok?” I asked, and I noticed that he jumped at the sound of my voice.  
“Yeah,” he said, an obviously-fake smile stretching across his lips. “I’m doing great! How are you?”  
Scowling at him was all I could bring myself to do, and he almost seemed to shrink under the weight of my gaze. “Really, Marco?” I said. “You know I can see through that bullshit, right?”  
He cringed, sinking further into his seat. “I really am fine, though,” he tried again. “Why would you think otherwise?”  
  
I clenched my jaw at that, crossing my arms and ignoring the plate in front of me. I fixed him with a scrutinizing stare that I hoped was intimidating, and from the way he was avoiding my eyes, I supposed that I was successful in that attempt.  
“It’s kind of _painfully obvious_ that something is up with you. You were zoning out on Saturday, and then again just now. Not to mention that little spectacle in astronomy today. Seriously, man, what’s going on with you? What’s on your mind?”  
He frowned down at his lap.  
“I just really don’t want to talk about it, Jean. I’m fine. I can deal with it. Can we talk about something else, please?”  
A twinge of pain bloomed somewhere deep within my chest at that. “You can _deal_ with it!? Marco, you don’t _have_ to deal with it! That’s what I’m here for, and whatever you need to talk about, I’ll listen!”  
He looked up at me, jaw slack in exasperation. “But I don’t _want_ to talk about it! Just drop it, ok!?”  
  
“Then what the hell am _I_ here for!? I’m your best friend, and you won’t even tell me what’s up with you!?”  
His shoulders tensed up and squared, eyes darkening in a way that colored his expression with determination. He said, “Don’t be such a hypocrite, Jean.”  
 _“What!?”  
_ “I _said,_ don’t be such a hypocrite! You won’t tell me what’s up with _you,_ either, so we’re even!”  
“What the hell are you talking about!? There’s _nothing_ up with me, I’m perfectly fine!”  
“Oh, yeah!? And I suppose you just get into fistfights with Eren over _nightmares_ all the fucking time, right!?”  
  
 _That’s fucking it._  
I leapt from my chair, my hands slamming down on the table between us and sending my fork flying. A hush blew through the dining hall then, silence blanketing the room and coating the mouths of the previously conversing patrons.  
“Marco, shut up, you don’t know what you’re talking about!”  
He stood up as well, the sound of his chair screeching along the floor like nails on a chalkboard. “Well maybe I would if you would just tell me about it!”  
“This isn’t _about_ me, we were talking about _you_ , remember!?”  
“No, _you_ were talking about me! _I’m_ the one who doesn’t want to talk about it at all!”  
“Come on, man, I’m here for you! Just let me help! I’m worried!!!”  
“JEAN, JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!” His raised voice caught me by surprise. “Stop worrying about me! I don’t _need_ your help, I don’t need you at all!”  
  
I could feel my glower faltering, another painful twinge jabbing at my chest.  
“N-no… wait, that’s not what I-“  
And then my blood was boiling in my veins, eyes wide and hands shaking with fury. I kicked my chair right the fuck over. “I DON’T NEED YOU EITHER, THEN! FUCK OFF AND DON’T COME CRAWLING BACK TO ME WHEN YOU’RE CRYING ALONE IN YOUR ROOM AND FRIENDLESS!”  
  
I didn’t give the son of a bitch any time to respond, I just turned on my heel and stomped out of there. Storming past the tables, I made sure to knock Jaeger sideways with my shoulder, the servers watching as I blew past. I shoved my way through the door, and the brisk fall air was welcome against my heated skin.  
  
I was so pissed. I was _so_ fucking pissed. He doesn’t need me!? I thought he was my best fucking friend, and all I do is try to help him and _he doesn’t need me._ Shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket, I turned in the direction of Maria, making my way to my room with long hurried strides.  
His words replayed in my head over and over again.  
 _“Don’t be such a hypocrite, Jean.”  
_ A muscle beneath my eye twitched as the painful twinge in my chest intensified sevenfold, and I was overcome with the urge to punch the first person who even _looked_ at me funny.  
In all honesty, as I walked along, I found that no one wanted to look at me for too long. I can only imagine what expression I was wearing to garner such a reaction from random passersby.  
 _“I don’t_ need _your help, I don’t need you at all!”_  
 I was filled to the brim with rage then, rage that boiled over and sloppily spilled over the edge, the splatters of hot fury burning whoever happened to be closest. I ended up kicking a nearby tree then, growling under my breath, and several passing students squeaked and scattered when I caught them staring.  
  
 _It doesn’t bother me,_ I thought angrily, working my jaw in frustration. _I don’t need Marco either, isn’t that right? I’ve gone without having a close friend for almost all my life, and I can do it again. Fuck him._  
But even as I thought it, a heavy weight seemed to fill my lungs, and I knew it was pointless. Marco was my most important friend, after all…  
  
When I finally burst into my suite in Maria, I found Bertholdt sprawled on the floor of the sitting area, books and papers splayed out around him as he pawed through the pages. Studying, it seemed. He looked up as I slammed the door behind me, and I threw my jacket on the couch before stomping into my room.  
“Jean…?” I heard him say.  
Throwing my bag into an empty corner of mine and Connie’s room, I flung myself angrily on the bed, kicking my shoes off so that they hit the wall opposite from me, emitting dull _‘thud-thud’_ s as they fell to the floor. Bertholdt appeared in the doorway.  
“Don’t you usually have lunch with Marco now, uh, or something?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”  
“Since when do you memorize my fucking schedule, Bertl,” I snapped, drawing my blankets up around me and turning away from him. He seemed at a loss for words, the damn sweaty giant.  
“Uh… sorry… are you done with classes for today?”  
“Yeah, I’m taking an anger management nap right now, so get the fuck out of my face, ok!?”  
“Ah. A-alright…”  
When I heard the door click softly closed, I let out a huff of frustration. Bertholdt didn’t deserve to be treated like that, I knew, he was only trying to be nice. But I just wasn’t in a mood to deal with anybody right then. I’d probably do something nice for him later.  
I laid there in my blankets for who knows how long, the afternoon sunlight spilling past the curtains as miniscule dust specs danced in its rays.  
 _Marco doesn’t need you_ , a little voice told me. And bitterly, I agreed. Nobody needed me. The world would keep turning, with or without Jean Kirschtein, and nobody would care either way….  
No… one…  
would….  
care.

* * *

  
_I flew over rooftops, their shingles coloring the blurred backdrop shades of muddled red and brown. Two tiny wires propelled me forward, glimmering in the sunlight, Titans swarming the area. I came to an abrupt halt when one grabbed my leg out of midair, and my heart nearly stopped. I sliced its finger off to free my limb and zipped away, a massive blade in each hand. Landing hard on one long rooftop, I broke into a run. Someone landed on the roof as well, running alongside me.  
“Jean!” he said. I turned my head to find a familiar freckled face, his dark hair blowing in the passing wind. “Thanks! I only got out because of you.”  
“Huh?”  
“It’s all thanks to you!” His smile was bright and reassuring, incredibly out of place given the situation. “I told you before, didn’t I? You’re cut out to be a leader!”  
I scoffed. Me, a leader? If I was being honest, I was the most selfish person I knew. But I grinned proudly all the same. “I seriously don’t know.”  
We leapt from the rooftop then, darting around and dodging the meaty hands of the Titans as they swiped at us in the air, as though we were little more than buzzing gnats; a nuisance.  
And then there was a horrified scream.  
I looked behind me. One of my comrades had fallen prey to a Titan, scarlet spraying out in all directions upon his impact with its palm. But we couldn’t turn back now!  
“Dammit!” I zipped forward with a shout. HQ was so close.  
I crashed through the middlemost window, glass shattering around me as I slammed to the floor and rolled across, propelled by the momentum of my 3D maneuver gear. I spun around on my knees. _ Did they make it!? _  
Not one second after I thought it, all my friends and comrades came crashing in, splinters of glass sprinkling over the floorboards, their arms covering their faces protectively. Well,_ almost _everyone. Marco… Bertholdt… Annie… Reiner… Sasha…  
“How many of us made it?”  
A wave of guilt and responsibility washed over me, dread clawing at my innards. I placed a hand over my face, my fingers clinging to my hair. _ Using the deaths of our comrades… how many died on my command?

* * *

_  
_“JEAN!”  
I awoke with a gasp.  
“Dude, finally, you’re awake. God, you were scaring me…”  
It was dark. Light from the kitchen area rolled in from the doorway, illuminating Connie’s big round head from behind. “Connie..?” I croaked. I was surprised to find my throat was raspy.  
“Yeah,” he said, a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry for waking you, man, but you were tossing and turning all crazy again. But this time you screamed.”  
“Oh,” was all I had to say. That would explain the sore  throat.  
“Jean, I’m not gonna lie, you’re starting to scare me with all these nightmares you get. What are they even about?”  
“Nothing,” I muttered.  
“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbled, stepping back to sit on his bed. “Sorry for being concerned. You should probably get them checked out, though. With some psychiatric professional or something. I don’t know. There’s got to be a thing with chronic nightmares, right?”  
“Connie, I kind of don’t know, and I wouldn’t talk to a psychiatrist even if there was.”  
He didn’t say anything to that. We sat there in the dark for a minute. I noticed that my heart was still thrumming violently within my ribcage, and there was a thin sheen of sweat along my skin. I breathed in, filling my lungs with so much air that I thought that they would burst, and with agonizing slowness, let it all out, little by little.  
  
“Does that help?” Connie asked quietly.  
“Yeah,” I said. “It does.” Already I could feel my pulse and breathing returning to normal, and I sat up in my bed, propping my back against the wall.  
“Why were you sleeping?” he asked. _Well aren’t we as nosy as ever_ , I thought grimly.  
“I can’t take a fucking nap without being questioned about it?” I shot back at him.  
“Ah, well, no, that’s not what I meant. Bertl said you were being pissy and taking an ‘anger management nap’.”  
“Oh. Yeah, that’s right.”  
  
 _“I don’t_ need _your help, I don’t need you at all!”  
  
_ I winced. All my boiling rage had cooled down by now, and was hardening into a cold and heavy weight in the pit of my stomach. It kind of made me nauseas. “I got into a fight with Marco.”  
  
“Woah,” he said, sitting up, “You mean like a fist fight!?”  
“What!? No! I don’t think I could ever bring myself to hit Marco, dude, what the hell?”  
“Oh, sorry.” He relaxed back against the wall on his side of the room. “What was it about?”  
“Nothing much,” I grumbled, a little unwilling to go into the details. I then slid off my bed, tripping over random shit in the dark as I searched for my shoes.  
“Where you goin’?” Connie asked.  
“Out.”  
“Well shit, Jean, I was just asking. Stop getting all snippy with me.”  
I sneered at him, but with how dark it was, I don’t think he could see me. I still wasn’t in a very sociable mood, it seemed. I finally located my shoes and slipped them on, stepping out into the sitting area. Reiner and Bertholdt were there, and I suddenly felt insanely uncomfortable.  
  
Not because of how I’d treated Bertholdt earlier.  
But because they were making out on the couch right then.  
They stopped when I walked in, Reiner’s tongue hastily retreating back into his own mouth. I avoided their eyes. “I’m just… gonna grab my coat,” I said, plucking it off the back of the sofa.  
And I turned and headed for the door. When I reached the doorway, however, I turned back to the lovebirds.  
“Bertl,” I said quietly. He sat up straighter. “I’m, uh, going to Starbucks right now. Would you like anything?”  
We made eye contact, and he smiled sheepishly at me. He seemed perfectly aware that this was my own way of apologizing since I lacked the balls to just say it upfront.  
“J-just a hot chocolate,” he said, and I gave him a strained smile before stepping out and closing the door behind me. Through the thin wood of the door, though, I could hear Reiner’s deep voice rumble, “What’s he going to Starbucks for at seven at night? Doesn’t he only ever get coffee there?”  


* * *

  
The warmth of the little coffee shop enveloped me in its arms, the aroma of crushed coffee beans comforting my red-tipped nose with the promise of caffeine. I quickly shuffled into line, two or three people in front of me and waiting to order. A short person with chin-length blond hair stood in front of me.  
“Armin?” I said, tentative.  
He turned around to stare at me with his large blue eyes. “Oh, hey Jean,” he said. “You planning to stay up late or something?”  
I scowled. “More like not sleep at all,” I told him.  
“Oh,” he said, stumbling forward as the line moved up. He glanced sideways at me before saying, “Uh, would you mind if we talked for a little bit? Do you have somewhere you need to be?”  
I kept my expression blank as I studied his eyes. “Yeah, sure, I’ve got nothing to do, anyway,” I told him, deciding his intentions were just. In all the years I’d known the guy, he’d bore no ill will to anyone before, so he was pretty trustworthy.  
  
We went to grab a booth seat along the window after we’d placed our orders, and I noticed he’d asked for three large cups of coffee. “For Eren and Mikasa?” I asked, and he nodded. “I’m helping them study for a few upcoming tests tonight.”  
I smirked over at him. “They usually just end up falling asleep on you, though. And I doubt Mikasa needs much help…”  
“I think she just wants to be included, and doesn’t want Eren to feel too bad,” he chirped, smiling softly.  
  
“Anyway,” I said, “what did you want to talk to me about?”  
“Yeah… about that,” he said, eyes wandering towards the counter of the shop up front. “Why are you getting coffee? Is it just studying, or…..?”  
The look he gave me told me all I needed to know—he knew exactly why I was getting jacked up on caffeine that night. So I just sighed and stared at him grimly.  
“I thought so.” He hunched forward in his seat. “Jean, about Ymir’s party last week-“  
“Oh god,” I said, holding up a hand. “Can we just stop right there?”  
“But-!”  
“I really don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
“You _really_ don’t want to talk about it?” He squinted at me, and I looked away, glowering out the window at the darkness that shrouded the campus. I figured that if I were to talk about it with anybody right then, it might as well be Armin. We’d had similar conversations in the past, either way.  
“What about the party?” I growled, still not looking at him.  
“I… want to apologize. On Eren’s behalf. He shouldn’t have said some of the things he sai-“  
“Armin.” I could feel the muscles in my face relaxing into a softer expression, and I turned to find him staring earnestly up at me. “ _You_ don’t have to apologize for _him._ He can take responsibility for his own goddamn mouth.”  
  
“But… Jean.”  
“Yeah?”  
“You… you’ve been having more of the nightmares, haven’t you?”  
I swallowed and nodded solemnly at him.  
“Okay… and this is a serious question, alright?”  
I nodded again.  
“Jean, have you met anymore people here at Trost University who you’ve seen in your dreams _before?_ ”  
All my muscles seemed to lock up at his question, freezing me in place.  
 _Oh god.  
  
_ “Armin! …….Jean!”  
He slid out from the booth, and he’d had to snap his fingers in front of my line of sight to pull me out of my stiffened state of being. “Come on,” he whispered. I followed him to the counter, my legs moving jerkily, and as we grabbed our cardboard trays, I found that my hands were shaking violently.  
Armin noticed, but he kept a cool head about it, watching me carefully as we went back to the table. I really admired Armin for that—most others would have freaked out or offered to carry my drinks or something really dumb. Armin on the other hand, seemed to keep a clear mind no matter what he did.  
  
When we sat back down, he prompted me with a, “Jean?”  
“Yes….”  
He tried to ask again, “Have you met people at-“  
“ _Yes.”_  
“Oh…”  
I kept my eyes trained downwards at my lap, feeling my stomach churn nauseously.  
“Do you mind telling me who?” he almost whispered. I shook my head.  
“Nah, it’s… it’s ok. Uh.” I let out a shaky breath, slipping my twitchy fingers through my hair nervously. “Oh god. Armin, it’s… it’s everyone.”  
“ _Everyone?”  
  
_ I buried my face with my hands, propping my elbows on the table. “Connie. Connie and Sasha were friends in my dreams too. She ate just as much as she does now, if not more… And Reiner. Reiner and Bertholdt and Annie. They were there!”  
“Jean-“  
“But that’s not all, Ymir and Christa too… both of them. Together.” My voice was quiet and shaky, muffled behind the flesh of my palm and fingers.  
“….What about Marco?” he asked quietly.  
I peeked at him from over my hands. “Marco…? I… I dunno. I-“  
  
 _“I told you before, right? You’re cut out to be a leader!”  
_ I lurched forward over the table, my arms snapping down to press against my stomach.  
“Jean!”  
“Marco!” I whispered, and I pressed my forehead onto the cool table in front of me.  
“Are you ok?” Armin murmured.  
“I feel like I’m gonna be sick,” I grunted. I really did. My head was swimming and my stomach was lurching.  
“Remember: deep breaths,” Armin said, his voice clear and soothing. I did as he told me, sucking in as much air as I could hold. As I let it all out, I brought a hand up on the table to rake through my hair.  
“I take it you remember Marco, then?” he said. I nodded against the table. “I just dreamt of him… we were running- wait, what?” My head snapped up to look Armin in the eye. “What do you mean, _remember?”  
  
_ His eyes widened, and he looked slightly panicked. “Um. W-well, it’s just that, sophomore year, you were telling me about… a certain dream you had. And your dream had this guy… and the way you described him, it sounded like Marco. So I just thought-“  
“Woah, woah, wait a second here, Armin, back up; I don’t remember any of this.”  
We stared at each other, him wearing an alarmed expression while I glared at him, bewildered.  
“That’s really strange… you were really shaken up about it,” he said, his voice lowering. “I mean, _really_. It’s not something you should have easily forgotten…”  
“What was the dream about?”  
Normally, I would prefer to _not_ discuss the content of my dreams, but this was important, and really frightening, to be honest.  
  
  
“It was about…” his voice trailed off, and he slowly brought his hands up to cover his mouth, eyes lowering to stare at the table. He sat there like that for several minutes, thinking.  
“Armin?” I murmured. He shook his head, his hair bobbing as he did so, and he lowered his hands to reveal that his mouth was pressed into a thin line.  
  
  
“Listen, Jean. Sometimes, we forget things on accident. Trivial things. Things that just happen to slip our minds. But other times, we forget things… on purpose. Our minds can’t handle them. So they forget them. Things so awful, that our brains decide to block the memory out completely.”  
I could feel the blood draining from my face, my nausea returning with a vengeance. I stared at him with wide eyes and I had to remind myself to breathe.  
“I think this is one of those things.”  
  
  
I felt his hand on mine, but I hadn’t even registered that his arm had moved from his side. “Jean, look at me,” he instructed. My eyes had drifted out of focus, and I slowly found Armin’s face again.  
He said, “I don’t think I should tell you what it was.”  
“But-!”  
“Think, Jean. What could you have dreamed of that was terrible enough for your brain to block it out completely? Do you _really_ want to know?”  
I didn’t have an answer for him. The idea absolutely terrified me; the regular nightmares were bad enough, but one that was so horrific and scarring that I ended up blocking it out?  
“I don’t know,” I said. “But… what if I dream of it again? What will I do?”  
“I’d much rather you just not worry about it until the time comes. Let it be forgotten. It was blocked out for a reason.”  
  
I nodded sullenly, my hand twitching beneath his, and he pulled his arm away.  
“And I was wondering…”  
“Yeah?”  
“Is there anything you can do to keep the dreams at bay?”  
“Not sleep,” I snapped.  
He smirked. “You know what I mean. Are there times when you _don’t_ have the dreams?”  
I could feel a flash of warmth crawl over my cheeks. “Y-yeah…. it’s a little weird though. I don’t have them when I stay the night at Marco’s.”  
Armin gave me the saddest look I’d ever seen from him, it was almost heartbreaking. “W-what? Is that bad!?”  
  
He shook his head. “N-no, that’s not it. I just…” He cast his eyes downwards. “Don’t worry about it. You should try sleeping with him more often.”  
“…….”  
“……What?”  
“Nothing.”  
  
“….A-anyway, maybe instead of staying up all night tonight, ask him if you can go over to his place. I’m sure he won’t mind.”  
I let out a low groan, sitting up in my chair and slumping downwards. “I can’t,” I whined.  
“What? Why not?”  
“We sort of… got into a fight.”  
“Surely not a fist fight?”  
“No! Why the hell do you people keep thinking that? It was just an argument, really.”  
“Oh… what happened?”  
  
I crossed my arms over my chest, my lungs feeling tight and constricted. “We just… I guess we got too into each other’s business. He didn’t want to tell me what was up with him, I wouldn’t tell him about the nightmares… Ug, saying it now, it feels like it was so fucking _stupid_. I probably shouldn’t have been so nosy about it…”  
“It’s never too late to apologize,” Armin said.  
“Don’t wanna,” I grumbled. “I said some mean things.”  
“And so, you’re just going to let your friendship end there? That’s pretty sad.”  
“Whatever. We weren’t even friends for that long, anyway.”  
“Yeah,” Armin shrugged, “But for such a short friendship, the two of you were pretty close.”  
I sat up at that, drawing my arms tighter against my chest. “And just what would _you_ know about our friendship? Huh?”  
“Well, not much, I guess,” he admitted sheepishly, “But the picture he posted on your wall sort of gave me the impression that you guys were like this.” He held up two crossed fingers. “You _did_ fall asleep on his shoulder, after all, and were comfortable enough to drool all over him.”  
“WHAT!?”  
Armin brought both hands up to cover his mouth, chuckling quietly into his fingers before pulling out his phone and tapping into Facebook. He handed it to me.  
  
Right there on my timeline was a picture of Marco and me. It was posted by me, apparently, so it must have been taken using my phone. Marco was holding it, and right next to him was me. My head was propped against his shoulder with my eyes closed and mouth hanging open, a small trail of saliva leaking from the corner and onto his shirt. He had the cheekiest smile I’d ever seen from him, his eyes gleaming with silent laughter. “ Hehe ;)” was what it was captioned. “Fucking hilarious,” I muttered under my breath. I tried to sound annoyed, but even as I said it, my lips were being stretched into a tiny smile.  
I scrolled down to the comments.  
  
  
  
“Thank you, Reiner,” I mumbled, scrolling back up to the picture. My gaze rested on Marco’s smiling face, and I frowned sadly.  
  
“You’re not really going to give up on him, are you?” Armin said. I looked at him from over his phone, and a surge of confidence and determination rushed through me.  
  
“No way. I never was.” And it was true. I never really planned on never speaking to Marco again. I was just a bit too prideful to make the first move, I begrudgingly admitted to myself. I handed Armin back his phone.  
  
“You know him better than me,” he said, “But I think Marco is the kind of person that would listen to you and accept an apology without a second thought. He wouldn’t make you feel worse than you already do. Give him a chance, y’know?”  
“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks, Armin. You’re pretty cool, you know that? Even if you _do_ follow Eren around like a creeper.”  
Armin seemed slightly taken aback. “Th-thanks, I guess… but, a _creeper_? That’s a little mean.”  
  
His phone vibrated in his hand barely after the words had left his mouth, and as he looked down at it, he stood up.  
“I have to go, Eren and Mikasa are getting impatient,” he said, tucking his phone in his pocket and grabbing his drinks. “Remember what all I told you, ok? It was nice talking to you, Jean.”  
  
“Yeah, you too,” I waved after him, watching as he hurried out. He paused at the door. “Oh yeah! Are you going to that one party this weekend?”  
“Uh… what party?”  
“There’s this one party out in the woods at an abandoned barn that Eren and Mikasa are going to, and I’m going with them. We’re allowed to bring whoever we want, and we already invited Connie, so I thought he might have mentioned it to you…”  
I shook my head.  
“Well, there’ll be a bonfire and hayride and drinks, I hear, so you’re welcome to come and bring Marco. Y’know, after you make up with him.”  
He gave me a bright smile before turning on his heel and leaving me behind.  
I remained in my seat for a minute longer, mulling over the conversation I’d just had.  
  
  
 _What have we learned today, Jean?_  
That I had to apologize to Marco as soon as possible so that I could sleep with him. Er, in his room, I mean.  
But sitting there, I found that I had neither the will nor the courage to pull out my phone and text him. I had to give Bertholdt his hot chocolate anyway. So, checking to make sure the drinks were still roughly the same temperature as the Sun, I picked them up off the table and strode out the door.

* * *

  
_Two large titans stared at me through the whole in the side of the building, the newly graduated trainees behind me scrambling in all directions, panicking. And then, a giant fist collided with the side of one Titan’s face.  
“What!?”  
  
_ I jerked awake.  
“Oh thank fucking god,” I muttered, resting my head in my hands. I was sitting at the tiny table in the kitchen, an empty Starbucks cup in front of me. The kitchen was the only room in the suite with the lights on, everyone else having gone to bed. Connie had closed the door to our room, and the telltale noises from Reiner and Bertholdt’s had died down considerably. I hadn’t intended to doze off at all, but the caffeine quickly crashed my system. I was just glad I had woken up before the dream got too awful.  
  
I pulled out my phone and checked the time. It was a little after midnight. Rubbing at my eyes, I realized that I had a snowball’s chance in hell of staying awake that night. _Should I risk going to sleep, anyway?_ I wondered. As much as I hated the nightmares, I’d always been able to handle them pretty well.  
  
  
 _“What could you have dreamed of that was terrible enough for your brain to block it out completely?”  
  
_ Yeah, no, fuck that noise, I wasn’t risking that shit. I unlocked my phone quickly, opening up my inbox and clicking Marco’s name.  
But…. I had no clue what to say to him. Would he still be really mad at me? Would he ignore me? I sighed. There was really no way to tell unless I gave it a shot, yeah?  
  
 **To: Marco  
hey. r u awake?  
  
** For fifteen solid minutes, I sat there at that kitchen table, my foot tapping impatiently against the floor. What the hell was he doing? He couldn’t be asleep already, could he? Shit, he probably _was_ ignoring me, goddammit, and I deserved it too. Fuck.  
  
 **To: Marco  
look. ur probably sleeping or something, or just dont want to talk to me, but i just want to apologize.  
**  
I winced even as I typed it. I hated saying sorry. Swallowing my pride with about as much enthusiasm as one would swallow poison with, I continued. **  
_  
_i shouldnt have been prying into ur personal business. can we still be friends? i rly want to come over rite now, if u dont mind. plz.  
  
** I’d added those last three letters out of desperation, practically begging him to let me come over. But after another ten minutes of foot-tapping and finger-fidgeting, I decided that maybe he was still just too upset with me. It was understandable.  
  
 **To: Marco  
i would actually really like it if u were awake rite now. ur not just ignoring my texts because ur mad at me, rite?  
  
** This time, a reply actually came within five minutes, and I sighed in relief. Except, it wasn’t really the kind of message I had been expecting…  
  
 **From: Marco  
jea nn y wouldi bemaaad were bffffffffffffffss rmember???????/ :):)))):) slly jen !!!!  
  
** Uh.  
  
 **To: Marco  
what the fuck  
  
** I waited a few minutes for an explanation, but of course, none came. My stomach twisted uneasily, and my brow furrowing in worry, I scrolled to the top of our messages and clicked the ‘call’ button. It took almost ten rings before he picked up.  
  
“Helloooo?”  
“Uh…. Marco?”  
He gasped into the receiver. “Jeaaaaan,” he practically sang. “There yer are…”  
“….Are you _drunk!?_ ”  
He giggled—actually _giggled_ —and said, “Mebby.” He was silent on his end for a second. “I miss you, Jean.” He hiccupped a bit, and I slapped a hand to my face, groaning loudly.  
“Just how fucking drunk are you!? Goddammit, Marco, I’m coming over there right now, you hear?”  
“Oh noooo,” he said. “You’re mad at me again, aren’t you?” His voice was thick and heavy with slurs.  
“Ah, shit, no, I’m not mad, just—I’m on my way, okay? Don’t do anything else stupid until I get there.”  
I hung up on him before he got the chance to embarrass himself anymore and rushed to pack my clothes, waking a disgruntled Connie in the process. I was out the door in less than five minutes, everything I would need the next day stuffed into my backpack.  
  
I raced through the night, fog already settling around campus and making it much more difficult to see.  
When I finally pounded through the front doors of Sina, Petra was the one on duty, thank god.  
“Oh, hey Jean!” she beamed from behind the front desk. I nodded in her direction and quickly scurried on, gripping the straps of my backpack so tightly that my knuckles went white. If anyone but Petra had been working the front desk, I’d have had to show them my student I.D. and then they’d know that I wasn’t actually a resident in Sina. By the time I got to room 323, I was incredibly out of breath.  
I rapped my knuckles against the door.  
  
“Marco!” I called.  
“Polo!”  
“Oh what the fuck, open this door the fuck up right this goddamn instant. It’s me, Jean.”  
  
I waited impatiently while the doorknob jiggled, Marco struggling to unlock and open it from the other side. I almost decided to kick the door in myself, it took so long.  
Finally, the door swung open to reveal Marco, slumped against the doorframe. His cheeks were tinted a light pink beneath his dusting of freckles, and his hair was all mussed up.  
“Hi, Jean!” he said, stumbling to the side to let me in. And let me tell you, his room was a fucking catastrophe. Empty cans of shitty beer littered the entire room, scattered across the floor and lying haphazardly on their sides. I quickly slipped in and shut the door behind me, locking it.  
“Marco, you fucking idiot, where the hell did you get all this alcohol from!?”  
He beamed at me, sliding down the wall and plopping down on his ass. “Ymir,” he hiccupped. “She’s so nice!”  
  
“Yeah, she’s a goddamn saint. Man, look at you! You shouldn’t drink this much alone, what if you get alcohol poisoning!? You’re such a dumbass!”  
He curled in on himself at that, pulling his knees up and hanging his head. “Sorry…”  
“Argh! No, listen!” I threw my bag into a corner of the room, kneeling down next to him and placing my hand on his shoulder. “I’m just concerned, and I don’t think I could handle it if you ended up in the hospital or some shit on my account, and… what the hell?”  
Marco had raised his head to stare blankly up at me, and I realized that he was clutching a wad of clothing to his chest.  
  
“Are those my clothes!?”  
His mouth contorted into a pout, his eyes heavily lidded. “You can’t have them,” he muttered.  
My jaw dropped in exasperation as I watched him tighten his hold on my clothes. “You’re really weird when you’re drunk, you know that? Now get up, we’re going to bed.”  
I got to my feet, holding out a hand to help him up, but he didn’t take it. He just kept staring at me. And then his eyes watered.  
 _Oh shit.  
_  
“I’m… really sorry, Jean.” He tilted his head sideways a bit, and rested it against the wall. “I do nn-hic!-eed you. I need you a lot.” His nose had turned bright red, and my guts wrenched painfully at the sight.  
I knelt back down. “Heeeeeey,” I said softly, placing my hands on his shoulders. “It’s ok. We’re best friends, aren’t we? Friends forgive each other, yeah?”  
He smiled, and a tear spilled over and trailed down his cheek. “Oh god, no no no no no, don’t do that. Fuck, what am I supposed to do if you cry, you big baby? I can’t handle that, seriously, stop it.” I wiped the offending liquid from his cheek with the sleeve of my jacket, and suddenly his face fell. I pulled my hand away. “What is it?”  
He lurched slightly, and that was my cue to jump up and make a mad dash for his trashcan. I placed it in front of him just in time. Disgusting stomach fluids spewed from his mouth, spilling into the trashcan and splattering against the bag lining the inside. It was pretty fucking putrid, but it was unsurprising, considering how shitfaced he’d gotten. As soon as he’d finished up, I grabbed his water bottle off the desk and handed it to him. “Wash your mouth out, ok? I’m gonna go toss this mess, it fucking reeks.” I took the trashcan away from him, watching to make sure he did as I told him to before taking the can to the trash room down the hall. When I returned, he was laying out on the floor, my clothes right next to him, forgotten. I made sure to casually kick them behind me and out of his reach.  
  
I set the trashcan down and placed one foot on either side of his torso, staring down at him. “You didn’t get drunk because of our stupid little fight, did you?” I asked him, cocking a brow.  
Marco merely sighed, blinking slowly. “I missed you, Jean. I thought you hated me. I suck.”  
I rolled my eyes. “No you don’t, you’re fan-fucking-tastic. I could never hate you, anyway.” I held out both of my hands for him to take. “And I missed you too.”  
He reached up slowly, placing each of his hands in mine. I closed my fingers around his and after encouraging him to help me out there, I was finally able to pull him to his feet. Well, sort of. He relied heavily on me for support, his legs limp beneath him. After guiding him to his bed, I pulled his shoes off and made him lay down. “Go to sleep, ok?”  
I tripped over several cans on my way to flip the switch, the harsh clang of aluminum on wood making me cuss in irritation. Once the room was flooded with darkness, Marco let out a low whine. “What _now_?” I growled, kicking my shoes off.  
“Don’t go…”  
“I won’t,” I said, stopping by his bed on my way to my own. “I’m staying the night with you tonight. Is that alright?”  
  
I heard him emit a pleased hum, my eyes still adjusting to the loss of light, and I smiled in his direction. “Good night, Marc-OH!” A strong hand had darted out and gripped my forearm tightly, and suddenly I was yanked into his bed, the mattress springs creaking under the added weight as I collapsed on top of him.  
  
“Woah, uh, what are you-?”  
“Shhh,” he said. “You can sleep in my bed.” Marco’s arms wound tightly around me then, ensnaring me in his warm embrace. He slid onto his side until I fell off him, and I was lying sideways on the mattress by his side. I wriggled defiantly in his arms. “Marco, this isn’t a good idea!” His face was getting closer; I could feel the warmth of his breath drawing nearer. “M-marco?” My voice cracked. My legs were twisted up between his, and his arms kept me from moving away. I was surrounded by Marco on all sides. Trapped.  
  
And then, with agonizing slowness, he brought his face up to mine, and… I’d almost thought he was going to _kiss_ me, his mouth mere inches from mine, and I will swear up and down that it was just instinct that made me close my eyes and tilt my head back. But then his face moved to the side, his cheek brushing against mine as he slid down, the heat of his skin on mine drawing a shiver out of me. He stopped at my shoulder, then turned to bury his nose in the crook of my neck. I stopped breathing. And he _sniffed_ me.  
“Marco!?”  
But it didn’t stop there. He traveled further downward, inhaling deeply as he went. I started to get incredibly nervous when his nose pressed into my lower stomach, and I almost opened my mouth to tell him not to go any lower, but then…  
 _Would that really be so bad?_ I bit my lip, suddenly feeling hot under the collar as an image flashed through my mind; an image of Marco sliding my pants past my hips, face wonderfully close to my--  
  
“Oh, god,” I whispered, blinking rapidly in an attempt to erase the image from my mind. Marco was moving back up, his face still pressed against me, and soon enough, he was back at the crook of my neck.  
“You smell so nice, Jean.” His voice was low and husky. I gulped.  
“H-hey… I really think I should go to my own bed… y-yeah?”  
He whined at that, only pulling me to his chest and squeezing me against him. He threw a leg over my waist and I yelped in surprise.  
 “Sleep with _me,_ Jean,” he begged.  
My face felt incredibly hot at that, Armin’s advice from earlier coming to mind.  
 _“You should try sleeping with him more often.”_  
I sighed into Marco’s shoulder. “This is kind of a tight fit, so maybe things would be better if…. Marco?”  
A low rumble that was more or less a muffled snore was his only response.  
“I can’t fucking _believe_ this,” I growled. But laying there, my nose buried in Marco’s shirt and breathing in his scent (a strange mix of pine and lavender, with a touch of what could only be described as _Marco smell_ ), I found myself drifting off to sleep. His aroma, the sound of his gentle breathing, his heartbeat, his warm body, his strong arms… I felt so comfortable. And, it was a little strange, but I felt… at home.  
 _Safe…_  
I looked back up at him, managing to make out his sleeping face in the dark. _Adorable._  
Sleep deprived and emotionally exhausted, I fell asleep in Marco’s arms, nuzzling against him, content.  


* * *

  
It was a shift in weight that dragged me out of the depths of my unconsciousness. The slight creak of a mattress spring. And then the sound of a head hitting the pillow.  
“What happened?” I heard someone whimper pathetically. I cracked my eyes open. It was Marco, his eyes squeezed shut and dark hair falling over his face.  
  
“You got drunk, dumbass,” I told him. I found that my arm had wound itself around Marco in the night, and I withdrew it in order to rub sleepily at my eyes.  
“You’re awake,” he gasped.  
“You don’t say.”  
Marco began untangling himself from my limbs, pulling away and scooting back from me. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I don’t really remember what exactly… happened.”  
 _You got drunk and vomited and pulled me into your bed and sniffed me all over._ But I didn’t say that. I just yawned instead.  
  
“Are you still mad at me?” he said quietly. I turned to look at him through heavily lidded eyes, his lips turned down in a soft frown.  
“What?” And then I remembered: our stupid-ass fight. “Oh… No, I’m not.” I blinked at him, taking in his sullen expression. “Come here,” I told him.  
I slipped my arms around his shoulders and pulled him into me, and I felt him stiffen uncomfortably. I moved my lips to his ear. “You ever get fucking wasted like that again, you better make sure I’m there with you, ‘cause that could have gotten dangerous really fast,” I growled.  
“….I didn’t know I’d get that drunk,” he said.  
“No one ever does. Just don’t be fucking stupid and drink alone like that. You weren’t drinking because of our fight yesterday, were you?”  
He didn’t answer. Instead, he asked me another question. “Jean, what happened last night? How did you get here?”  
  
I pulled away from him and yawned again, snuggling under the blankets some more. “Uh… check your phone. Specifically your text messages and call history.”  
He sat up, wincing from what was surely one hell of a hangover. Squinting around, he dug through the pockets of the jeans he was still wearing and pulled out his phone, the light from the screen showering his freckles in its glow.  
  
I watched as his eyes flitted back and forth, reading through his messages. When he finally looked up, he said, “Do I even want to know what I said when you called?”  
“Probably not,” I said.  
“…….were you ok? Why did you want to come over so badly?”  
I sighed. I didn’t really want to tell him it was the nightmares, but he’d probably guess it anyway. “Can I say that I don’t want to talk about it right now, or will we get into a fight again?”  
“You don’t have to tell me right now….. oh god, Jean, I… the things I said. I didn’t mean it, you know that right? I just-“  
“Shut up,” I sighed. “You apologized plenty last night. Don’t worry about it, ok? I said awful things, too. And I’m sorry about that.”  
He frowned at me, brown eyes wide, and I was reminded of the sight of him crying last night.  
“Don’t look at me like that,” I grumbled.  
“Ok… but Jean?” He laid back down next to me, relaxing.  
“Yeah?”  
“How did we end up sleeping in my bed together?”  
“This was not my intention,” I said. “You grabbed me and pulled me into bed and wouldn’t let go.”  
He groaned loudly, covering his blushing face with a hand. “I’m sorry.” His head snapped up to stare at me then, eyes wide. “I didn’t do anything really weird, did I!? If I did, it didn’t mean anything, ok!?”  
  
 _“You smell so nice, Jean.”  
  
_ I grinned at him. “Nope. Nothing weird at all. What are you so afraid of, Marco? What do you _think_ you might have done?”  
His cheeks flared a brilliant scarlet, and he gave me a quick shove.  
“Just tell me if I did anything strange, Jean! I’m serious!”  
I laughed, loving his reactions. “Ok, fine, you didn’t.” He glared at me. “Seriously!” I insisted. “You did nothing out of the ordinary except drag me into bed with you! To be honest, I think you just get a little clingy when you’re drunk…”  
“A _little?_ ”  
“Yeah.”  
  
We laid there in Marco’s bed for several minutes, not speaking, only basking in one another’s body warmth. It was nice. The sheets smelled like Marco.  
“What time is it?” I asked softly, breaking the silence.  
He glanced at his phone, squinting at the bright light of the screen. “Astronomy is in a half hour,” he said.  
“Oh…. You going to class today?”  
He shook his head, his hair splayed out against his pillow.  
“I understand,” I said, mussing his aforementioned hair playfully before slipping out of bed. I stood and stretched, groaning in relief as my bones cracked and popped, before slipping on my shoes and grabbing my backpack. I stopped by the door.  
“You want me to pick you up anything to eat?” I asked.  
Pressing his face into the pillow, he let out a muffled, “ _God,_ no.”  
I chuckled darkly at his misfortune. He probably wouldn’t be hungry for a good while. “I might see you later, ok? Get some sleep Marco.”  
I turned and stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind me. I paused in the hallway, smiling to myself. I felt strangely bubbly and giddy, and I wasn’t sure why. From behind the door, I heard a hoarse, “By Jean.”  
The bubbly feeling intensified.  


* * *

  
**From: Marco  
I’m feeling a little hungry, now….  
  
** I smiled at the text message. Of course he was.  
“Sasha, you fucking cheated!”  
“No, I beat you fair and square! You owe me a meal, Connie!”  
I looked up to see Sasha and Connie arguing in the sitting area, looking as though they were about to beat the shit out of one another with my Xbox 360 controllers. “You break ‘em, you buy ‘em,” I said, but they didn’t seem to hear me. Shrugging, I tapped out a reply.  
  
 **To: Marco  
i figured. alright, hang tight and ill pick u up sumthing. think u can chill for an hour?  
  
From: Marco  
Yeah. :) Thanks.  
  
To: Marco  
np. also… this is gonna sound a lil weird. but do u think I could maybe stay the nite with u again? i promise to sleep in my own bed this time  
  
** Grinning wryly, I typed out a second message to go along with that one.  
  
 **To: Marco  
unless u would prefer me in ur bed again ;)  
  
** His response was a tad slow.  
  
 **From: Marco  
Of course you can! You can sleep in your own bed, though, you’re a big kid now! I believe in you. :)  
  
To: Marco  
gee thx. c u soon.  
  
From: Marco  
But… will you ever tell me what’s going on with you? Like why you want to stay the night with me so much?  
  
** “Hmm.” I grimaced. I guessed I _would_ have to tell him at some point, considering I was mooching off of him for comfort.  
  
 **To: Marco.  
well. yeah. ill have to tell u eventually, rite? as long as u tell me whats been up with YOU  
  
From: Marco  
Deal.  
  
** I sat back in my chair at the kitchen table, hastily closing my books and putting my pens away. I would have to shower and pack some extra clothes.

  
That evening, I brought over two large boxes of our favorite pizza, and we ate together silently. I’d brought over my bag full of homework and text books, and was spending a good deal of time working on my calculus homework. Marco mostly just watched me work, although I doubt I was all that interesting.  
“You’ll have to help me catch up with astronomy,” he said, and I smiled softly up at him.  
“You wouldn’t need my help so much if you weren’t such an alcoholic.”  
He scoffed. “I am _not_ an alcoholic! Will you help me or not?”  
“Yeah, yeah,” I laughed. “Just let me finish this up, ok? Gimme fifteen minutes.”  
“Ok,” he said, and he reached for another slice of pizza.  
  
We spent most of the night going over my notes, and I will admit, I may have snapped at him once or twice… I felt pretty bad about it, and I apologized profusely for my short temper, but he didn’t mind. It was just that he was a little slow to catch up, and it was frustrating for me. I felt like an awful teacher. Hell, I _was_ an awful teacher, but that didn’t stop Marco from doing his best to understand my shitty explanations, and I admired him for that.  
That night, we didn’t joke around or tease each other that much… It was almost like we were a bit too sensitive from our fight the previous day, and we were uncharacteristically gently towards one another. I think we just wanted to make sure the both of us were ok, that there were no hard feelings. We wanted one another to know that we truly cared about the other. We avoided all talk of personal problems and nightmares, opting to instead focus on schoolwork and plans for future weekend. With class the next day, we went to bed early, in our own separate beds this time.

* * *

  
_I wandered the blood spattered streets, ash raining down from above. A cloth was tied over my mouth and nose, protecting my lungs as I went about disposing of the bodies of the deceased. So many had died. Flies and gnats buzzed about, the vile aroma of rotting meat permeating the air. As I trudged along the loose cobblestones, I looked down at my gloved hands for a brief moment.  
And as soon as I looked up, I gasped, stopping dead in my tracks.  
Lying in front of me, back propped against a nearby building, was a young man, blood staining the stones beneath him. He had only one arm and half a face, his ribs peeking out from the ripped and bloodied flesh on his right side. Teeth visible inside his torn mouth, I saw that his only eye was still open, glazed and lifeless and brown, and as I took into account his dark hair and the freckles that adorned his cheeks, I realized whose mutilated corpse this belonged to.  
“Is that you… Marco?”  
“Cadet!” A woman in all white approached me, a clipboard in one gloved hand. “Do you know his name?”  
I stared at my shaking hands, mumbling to myself, eyes wide and disbelieving. “I can’t believe it… not him,” I said. “Marco… what happened?”  
What happened, Marco?  
What happened?  
What….  
happened… ?  
  
_

* * *

“Jean…?”  
I twisted around and fell, hitting the floor with a loud _‘thud’._ _  
_It was dark. I couldn’t see anything. The image of Marco, ripped apart and soaked in blood, rotting in the ashen air was all I could see in the darkness. I stood up as quickly as I could, ignoring the dizziness that threatened to send me toppling back to the floor. _Light, I need light, I need to see, where the fuck even am I, where’s Marco, Oh god where am I.._  
My thoughts were scattered, panicked, my breathing harsh and ragged. I found the desk that I subconsciously knew to be near my bed and grappled at it, sending a few papers to the floor as I searched for the lamp.  
“Hey, is something wrong-ah!”  
I had almost knocked the lamp over while turning the switch. Dim light flooded the room, illuminating the small dorm. Marco’s dorm. I was at Trost University, that’s right.  
My eyes locked on Marco’s bed across the room from me, and my heart thudded painfully in my chest as I stared at him; he was sitting up, eyes wide with his blanket covering where the right half of his face should be.  
 _Should be._  
“Jean?” he said, quiet. I stumbled towards his bed, my legs almost giving way beneath me until I placed one knee on the edge of his mattress. I leaned in towards him. He leaned back.  
“Marco,” I whispered, “Don’t move.”  
He tensed up, his one visible eye staring at me, wide and terrified. I lifted my violently shaking hand, bring it up slowly, slowly, and even more slowly.. _What if it’s not there? What if he’s…_ My fingers finally found the thick quilted cover, curling and gripping it tightly. I held my breath as I pulled it down.  
It slid off to reveal a whole and complete Marco. Two eyes. Two cheeks. Two sets of freckles.  
  
I stared, taking in the beautiful and perfect sight of a living Marco. I let out the breath I’d been holding, my whole body melting with relief. My vision blurred, and I blinked the tears away.  
“Marco,” I sighed, my shoulders shaking as I lifted my hand to his face. “You’re alive.” I carefully trailed deft fingertips down the side of his face, marveling at just how very much _alive_ he was. “You’re alive,” I repeated, sobbing as more tears poured from my eyes. “Oh god, you’re alive.”  
  
He pulled me onto his bed with him, his arms winding around my shoulders, and he pressed me against him. He was strong, and warm, and sturdy against my cold and quivering frame.  
“Jean, calm down, please don’t cry… Jean…”  
I dug my face into his shoulder, my hands clawing at his shirt I was wracked with uncontrollable sobs. “Marco!” I cried, chest heaving.  
“Jean… oh Jean… I’m here.” I’d never been more happy and pleased and _relieved_ to hear his voice, and I wanted him to never stop talking.  
  
I was just so relieved, and so upset and distressed and _terrified_. That nightmare would haunt me for the rest of my fucking life. I would never forget it. And I so desperately wanted to forget…  
The blood. The bones. The rot. The prospect of having to go on living without Marco. Marco, who had died an awful death. He’d been alone. I hadn’t been with him, and he’d died alone.  
 _But he’s alive. He’s holding you right now, after all._  
  
Crying into his shoulder, I felt gentle fingers combing through my hair, stroking down and over the shorter hairs, and I melted into him. My sobs died down into whimpers and sighs and hiccups and sniffles, floating effortlessly passed my lips. I could feel Marco’s cheek against my head as well, nuzzling me softly.  
“Stay in my bed tonight?” he whispered. I nodded. There was no way I was letting him go. I would never let him go.  
  
He didn’t bother to try and turn the lamp off, and even if he had, I wouldn’t have let him; I wanted to see him. I wanted to see his face, to see his right arm, to see that his mouth was still a sweet smile and not a grotesque grimace. To see his freckles and his dark hair, and both of his big brown eyes. He pulled me down onto the bed with him, draping the blankets over us as I clung to him, resting my head on his chest. His breathing. His heartbeat. His arms held me close that night.  
  
Here I was, showing Marco my weakest and most vulnerable side, and I couldn’t care less. He was holding me, and alive, and that was all that mattered. Of all the dreams I’d had, none could compare to the sickening horror of seeing my best friend ripped and torn and bleeding, of finding him alone on the street. Of being the only one to identify him.  
  
These nightmares were so unbelievably cruel. I didn’t know what they meant, or why I was having them, only that they were cruel. The only good part was that they were only dreams, a harsh and horrifying figment of my own imagination.  
 _Oh, how merciful, that the horrific and gruesome cruelty was all just a dream,_ I thought bitterly.  
 _How mercifully cruel._  
Because I’d had to see the mutilated and lifeless body of my best friend. Because I’d had to learn of the inexplicable pain of losing the person who is most important to me.  
  
Because even though it was Marco’s body that had been ripped _practically in half_ , it felt like the same had been done to my soul.  
  
 _“What could you have dreamed of that was terrible enough for your brain to block it out completely?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit frustrating and slow going, but at long last, here it is. Jean's POV. 
> 
> Now I have to go get ready for church....  
> But, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and I apologize for the wait! I've actually been distracted with fic ideas that I'm really excited about, but I refuse to abandon this fic, so those will have to wait. :)
> 
> Also, WOW, I didn't actually expect all those comments on Marco's point of view, thank you all so very much!!! They really made my week, and I loved reading them!
> 
> Alsoooo.... if anybody's interested, I've got a little tumblr over at ownly-lownly.tumblr.com. I occasionally make text posts about what I'm doing or any progress I'm making on this fic, so if your interested, you should follow me! :) You can also bug me about future updates and ideas and prompts as well, if that's what floats your boats...
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys are enjoying this fic so far! Until chapter 5! <3


	5. Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infamous gayride (thanks tumblr user ablenightroad) but in Jean's POV. Yaaaaaay.
> 
>  
> 
> [Click here for Marco's POV!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/991568/chapters/2081087)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember: [This is the song Marco plays on piano. :)](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bYUFa7yaQWw)
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry for how long it took, you nerds better not have stayed up all night for this, i swear. 
> 
> Also! [johannathemad](http://johannathemad.tumblr.com/post/67239096733/oh-naive-naive-marco-x) [made some fanart](http://johannathemad.tumblr.com/post/67113991513/i-was-about-to-scream-when-i-discovered) [from chapters 3, 4 and 5.](http://johannathemad.tumblr.com/post/67115986802/also-this-because-the-hayride-with-cupid-springles) So check 'em out!
> 
> And also [Mouse's storyboard of a scene from chapter 3! ](http://thisismouseface.tumblr.com/post/67131403683/have-you-guys-read-the-like-a-drum-series-by)  
> [And a sketch from chapter 2](http://thisismouseface.tumblr.com/post/67444620128/sketches-from-the-plane-ride-back-from-ny-i-had)
> 
>  
> 
> [Actually, there's a LOT of cool art from a LOT of cool people, so go through the tag! If not, you're really missing out!](http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/fic:-lad)

_It was like a nightmare  
It's painful for me  
Because nobody wants to die too fast  
Remember the day of grief  
Now it's strange for me  
I could see your face  
I could hear your voice  
_ \--MPI ( _The Reluctant Heroes_ )

* * *

  
_Deep breath_ , I had to remind myself, inhaling deeply through my nose, the water dripping from my face. I opened my eyes to see myself, staring right back at me, leaning over a sink under the fluorescent lighting as I released the breath in my lungs through my mouth. Several stalls lined the wall behind me, all of them vacant. At least, I _hoped_ they were vacant.  
From somewhere within the building, the calming tune of a slow piano harmony could be heard, bouncing down the halls and through the bathroom door.  
 _Get a grip, Jean, you’re fucking losing it,_ I thought, looking into my own tired, hollow eyes. I was so done. I was _so fucking done_ with all these stupid ass nightmares that did nothing but give me grief, and yet, they showed no sign of letting up- on the contrary, they were getting worse, more vivid, and that was the last thing I wanted.  
  
Marco had been kind enough to let me sleep in his bed that night, when I’d dreamt of his death. I sighed, remembering what a pitiful mess I’d been, a twinge of shame curling my fingers into loose fists on the bathroom counter. He had even been kind enough to let me sleep with him again the night after, even when I’d refused to explain a thing to him.  
I remembered how I’d refused to skip class on Wednesday, too afraid to be away from him for too long, and substituting my lack of sleep with caffeine and energy drinks. I didn’t hear a single word of the astronomy lecture that day, constantly turning around to make sure Marco was still alive and well behind me. And every time I did, I was almost too afraid to; I was scared I would only see one eye staring back at me instead of two, glazed over with death.  
  
I shuddered at the memory, standing up and cranking away at the paper towel dispenser. Collapsing into bed that night had been the best, the pillow enveloping my nostrils in the scent of Marco’s lavender shampoo, the girly shit his mom had bought him and I always teased him for. I secretly loved it, though, but like hell I’d tell him that. I began drying my face off with the paper towel, recalling that night’s events…  
  
“You’re really going to sleep like that?” he’d said, standing over me as I sprawled out on his bed.  
“Mm-hmm.” I had my face smothered into his pillow, too tired to do much more than hum a response. I had only realized he’d dropped down into a kneeling position when I felt his hands on my shoes, his fingers picking at the laces.  
“I assume this means we’ll be sharing a bed again, tonight?” he had asked as he pulled a shoe off. And being the most pathetic piece of shit on campus, I turned to look down at him and uttered a, “Please”. My voice even cracked, and I sounded so damn pitiful, but I was too tired to care; It like I was some punk-ass kid shamelessly begging to sleep in his parents’ bed in the middle of a storm.  
Marco gave me a warm smile as he pulled my other shoe off, and it set my nerves at ease. I should really know better than to think Marco would judge me for all this, he was too kind.  
  
When the lights had been turned off and he’d stripped himself of his pants and shoes, he shoved me over to make room for himself on the bed since I was too tired to move myself. And with him lying so close, straight on his back and nose pointed to the ceiling, I had to stop myself from burying myself into his warm side… he was always so warm, it wasn’t fucking fair.  
But I also felt insecure—I was lying on my side, keeping my eyes trained on Marco’s silhouette, but my eyelids were growing heavy, and I feared that if I closed them, I’d open them to find pieces of him missing.  
  
“…..Marco?”  
He turned his head to face me in the dark, and I couldn’t see what expression he was making.  
“…..Yes?”  
I hesitated before scooting somewhat closer to him, loathe to ask this of him. “You don’t mind if I get a bit closer, do you?” I’d whispered nervously.  
He didn’t respond. He didn’t move or anything, so I started backtracking, deciding I was being silly. “I-I mean… nevermind, it’s stupid, I’m just gonna go to sl-“  
“S-shut up, Jean,” he had interrupted, “It’s fine.”  
 _He says it’s fine, so just go for it,_ I told myself, taking a deep breath and wriggling up to him, until my face was pressed against his side, my body lying along his.  
“This ok?” I asked him, already starting to doze off; having him close against me comforted me for some reason, as though if we were touching, it would miraculously keep him from dying in the night.  
Marco sighed, and then said, “No.”  
I stiffened at that, my head jerking up. It.. wasn’t ok? “W.. what?”  
 _What am I doing wrong? Am I making him uncomfortable? Oh god, what if he makes me sleep in my own bed tonoight-  
_ My rampant thoughts ceased, however, the second he shifted over until he was lying on his side, facing me. He slid his arms around me then and pulled me to his chest, so that I could hear his ragged breathing and stuttering heartbeat. “There,” he had said, “That’s better, huh?”  
I could only nod in affirmation, winding my own arms around his waist as I relaxed against him, sighing comfortably. This was _better_ than I could ask for, and I momentarily wondered what the fuck was with my stomach; it was flipping and somersaulting and doing all kinds of acrobatic shit, but I ignored it, much too sleepy to focus my thoughts on any one thing. “Thanks, Marco,” I had mumbled, letting my eyes flutter closed.  
I briefly remember hearing a warm hum bubbling from deep within his chest, and then a, “Goodnight, Jean.”  
  
I sighed to myself, letting a small smile creep onto my lips at the memory as I threw the damp paper towel away. Sleeping with Marco was nice…  
Sleeping! Sleeping _next to_ Marco was nice! Next to him. Platonically.  
I wished I could have done it one more time, the night after.  
  
Finally, feeling a bit more mentally stable since my nightmare, I decided to sleep in my own bed that Thursday night, but still in Marco’s room; he agreed, saying that it was a good idea to start weaning me off of him.  
  
I should have known that the second I fell asleep without Marco’s body heat surrounding me, I’d be thrown right back into the same fucking nightmares I ran from. It was poor judgment on my part.  
  
I dreamt of a fire that night.  
The ashes rose and danced and fluttered in the wind, still glowing with the heat of the flames they’d just escaped, flying ever higher into the night…. Their orange glow stood out against the backdrop of silver, twinkling stars.  
Connie’s sobs had sounded so real, the dream just as vivid as all the others had been—he’d crouched on the ground, head in his hands as tears streamed down his face. Sasha stood next to him, Ymir and Christa to her right, their empty eyes staring ahead at the pyre.  
Yes. It was a pyre. A pyre for the dead, body after body burned to ashes. The same ashes that were littering the air. The same ashes that were Marco’s, their light speckling the dark air in the same way his freckles had speckled his cheeks. He was dead.  
I spotted a few tiny shards of charred bone resting on the ground, covered in soot and ash. I crouched to the ground and picked them up, placing them in the palm of my hand.  
 _Hey, Marco… I can't even tell which bones are yours anymore._  
  
I had to pull myself out of the memory, burying my eyes in the crook of my elbow as I stood in the middle of the bathroom, willing the images away. I was going to be sick if I continued thinking about it. I’d awoken on the cold hardwood floor, early-morning light filtering in through the window, my right hand clenched into a fist against my chest, my left hand gripping my wrist.  
My eyes fell on Marco’s sleeping form instantly, his chest rising and falling with the steady breaths of deep sleep. I hadn’t woken him.  
  
As I waited for Marco to wake up, I spent the time sitting next to his bed, admiring his features, his whole, un-marred face in the light of the rising sun. He was sleeping on his side, curled up along the edge of the bed, his dark hair falling over his eyes as he slept peacefully. And I may or may not have run my fingers through his hair a few times. And it may or may not have been hella soft. And smelled of lavender.  
I just had to recognize the fact that he was alive, okay!? That was all. _Anyone_ would have caressed his sleeping face and ran their fingers over his freckles after having a nightmare like that. Anyone. It was no big deal. Thank god he’s a heavy sleeper, that’s all I’ve gotta say.  
  
Needless to say, Marco knew nothing of that nightmare, and I hadn’t told him a thing about it. As far as he was aware, I’d had a peaceful night’s rest.  
  
The door to the bathroom creaked open right then, and I quickly composed myself, standing up straight as some guy walked behind me to the urinals. I took that as my cue to leave.  
  
As I walked down the hallway of the student union building, my sneakers squeaking along the newly-waxed floor, I noticed something…  
 _It’s strangely quiet right now…._  
Where had the music gone?  
  
I continued walking along until I came upon the small sitting area that the building’s public piano rested in, always available for student use.  Several people were lounging about in the heavily cushioned sofas and chairs, a couple cuddling on the couch, a girl with her nose in a book on one particularly over-stuffed chair.  
And at the piano was a dark-haired man with freckles.  
Well, I wouldn’t know about that last part if I didn’t already know him, because he was currently covering his face with his hands, hiding the freckles on his cheeks behind his fingers.  
Smirking cheekily to myself, I sauntered over to the piano, standing to its left so that I could look down at Marco when he pulled his hands away. But even when he did—revealing a _wicked blush_ I might add— he didn’t notice me, too immersed in his thoughts as he placed his hands back on the black and white keys. His obliviousness was… kind of cute.  
  
He started to play, a somber tune escaping his fingertips, and I couldn’t help but smile as I watched him; he had donned a smile of his own, a light flush dusting his cheeks as he continued to play. The smile was warm and comforting, his brown eyes gleaming with what I could only interpret as endearment, and I crossed my arms over my chest as I watched his long fingers crawl along the instrument. _What is he thinking about?_ I wondered, admiring the way the sunlight from the nearby window illuminated the right half of his face. The song he was playing was… soft. And a little sad. But I really liked it. Although it was a bit of a morose tune, it had something light and airy about it, but I couldn’t exactly place it…. I wanted to hear more.  
His eyes started to wander, fingers still plonking away at the keys, until his gaze rested on me, and his dazed expression fell apart as he came crashing back down to Earth.  
“JESUS CHRIST, JEAN!”  
  
The music stopped abruptly, a horrified expression crossing his features as he jumped in his seat and clutched at his chest with both hands. I couldn’t help but laugh, that was just too damn funny.  
  
“You should have seen your face!” I cackled, doubling over. Marco’s blissfully happy expression was gone and he was instead glowering at me, having come down from cloud nine at last.  
I sobered up quickly, my smile shifting into a dry smirk. “Don’t give me that look,” I told him.  
“How long have you been there?” he grumbled.  
“Not really all that long,” I said. “You had your face covered for a while there, I dunno what the hell was up with _that_.”  
“That long!?” he nearly shouted, his blush painting his face red in mortification.  
“Relax,” I said, striding around the piano to sit beside him on the rickety old bench; it creaked under the added weight, and I suddenly felt like a fatass. “You get embarrassed too easily. You should see how red you are right now….” He shoved me in the shoulder playfully, almost knocking me off the piano bench. “You’re really good at playing piano, though,” I told him, “Wow.”  
He then looked away from me, his face somehow managing to gain an extra shade of red.  
“Th-thanks…”  
I looked away from him, hunching forward and lifting a finger to bring it down on a random key, the note ringing out in the otherwise-silent lounge. “What’s that song called? I really liked it.”  
He straightened up beside me. “Y-you did?” he asked, glancing sideways at me. I nodded.  
“I, uh… didn’t give it a name. Not yet, anyway.”  
I sucked in a sharp breath then, surprised and impressed. “What!? You mean you wrote that!?”  
Marco smiled and nodded in affirmation.  
“Play it for me!” I demanded, suddenly really eager to listen to more.  
“W-what? Jean, no, it’s not even finished-“  
“Like I give a fuck.”  
He frowned at me, his eyebrows turning upward in a sheepish expression. “I… I don’t know.”  
“But you were _just_ playing it, not even a few minutes ago-“  
“I know, but-“  
“What’s so different _now?”_  
  
He then took the time to stare long and hard at me, his eyes boring into mine, until I finally caught on.  
“What the fuck. Why can’t I watch!?”  
“I just--! I’ll get nervous and screw up, ok?”  
That was ridiculous- who the fuck even cared?  
“So what? I don’t care, Marco. What, do you think I’m gonna laugh if you fuck it up?”  
He mumbled something under his breath, my ears only managing to pick up on the pop of his lips as he pronounced his ‘p’s- _put_ and _past_. Little shit.  
“What was that?” I growled.  
“Nothing.”  
  
“Please Marco?” I begged. “I really like watching you play. You said you’d play for me, remember? At the Halloween party. You promised.”  
  
“I promised you nothing,” he deadpanned with a smirk, and I scowled at him, staring him down. He cracked under my gaze, turning away abruptly and blushing a bit.  
“F-fine,” he stammered, placing his hands on the piano. “But… don’t laugh.”  
“I already said I wouldn’t.”  
  
He scooted away from me a bit, pulling his shoulder away from mine as he positioned his fingers over the keys. I watched him as he took a deep breath, and then played the first few notes.  
They were quiet and soft, carrying a melancholic melody… his finger slipped, the stray note disrupting the flow of music, and Marco froze, eyes wide.  
I nudged him, not wanting him to stop. “Keep going,” I urged.  
He took another deep breath before delving right back in.  
  
The second time was much better than the first, the stream of notes uninterrupted as Marco played, chords and tunes and harmonies intermingling to form one concise composition. I was pretty damn impressed—he had _made_ this song. It made it just that much more special for me, for some reason. Something about the song felt very personal, like I was getting a glimpse into Marco himself. His foot worked the brass pedals to add texture to the music, warping and muffling and echoing it, and in a simple word, the song was beautiful.  
When low chords joined in with the higher notes, he stopped, pulling his hands away from the piano. We didn’t say anything for several long seconds, the silence ringing in my ears.  
“Why’d you stop?” I asked.  
He turned to me. “That’s all I’ve got for right now. I only just started working on it, after all.”  
I blinked a few times, comprehending what he’d said before turning my eyes back to the piano. “It sounds a little sad…”  
“Just a little,” he agreed.  
“I really like it."  
“Yeah…… I really like it too.”

* * *

  
“Everyone, get in the fucking van, I don’t have all night!”  
  
Saturday evening had arrived, bringing with it the barn party that Armin had invited Marco and I too. It was an extremely windy day, the blowing wind bringing with it a cruel chill that bit at the tips of my fingers, stiffening my joints with cold. The sky was turning red, stained by the setting sun as another gust of wind rattled whatever dead leaves had managed to cling to the mostly-bare branches of nearby trees.  All of us were huddled together against the chill, and Eren tried shoving me out from the warmest part of the group: the center. It started out as a few passive aggressive nudges, but we soon turned to shoving until Mikasa broke us up. I was shamefully banished to the harsh outer regions of the group. Marco joined me like the good friend he was. Eren reveled in his victory at the warm center, jesus christ, what a jackass.  
  
Bertholdt, Reiner, Annie, Mikasa, Eren, Armin, Sasha, Connie, Marco and myself had all been waiting for Ymir to roll up in her old van, all of us hoping that it would have heat. The thing barely even looked functional, let alone having the ability to regulate its temperature. Christa waved at us all from the passenger seat up front, smiling cutely.  
  
“Well that looks pretty damn ancient,” I grumbled under my breath, taking into account the rust and chipped paint. Marco chuckled at that. As Bertholdt, Reiner and Annie piled in, Armin sidled up behind them, glancing warily about the rotting interior, discomfort and discomfort evident in his eyes. “Will…. This fit all of us?” he wondered. Ymir shoved him from behind, flinging him into the backseat behind Bertholdt.  
“Nah,” he said. “You guys will just have to make yourselves fit.”  
Mikasa and Eren joined Armin in the back, Sasha squeezing in beside Annie with Connie in the seat behind her, shoulder to shoulder with Eren.  
“What about us!?” I sneered, Marco and myself having yet to board the Shit Wagon from the 1800’s. Everyone pointed towards the trunk.  
 _Of fucking course.  
_ Marco and I opened up the backdoors of the truck to find dozens of beer cans lining the gritty floor of the trunk-space, a cooler sitting in the corner. “You two keep an eye on that and make sure it stays closed, ya hear?” Ymir said, clambering her long-legged self into her seat behind the massive steering wheel and slamming her door, rust flakes falling off on impact. It was a miracle it was even still attached.  
  
“You brought more of your shitty-ass beer?” I complained, coming up to glare at her between Armin’s and Mikasa’s heads. She smirked back at me through the rearview mirror.  
She snorted derisively before revving her engine, a cloud of smoke drifting up from the hood of the van. “Marco brought more of his shitty-ass boyfriend?”  
Marco made some sort of strange choked, spluttering noises, sort of like a drowning cat, and Reiner shot him a funny look. I’d look at him funny too if I wasn’t so irritated.  
“I’M NOT HIS BOYFRIEND!” I yelled, right by Armin’s ear, earning me a glare from him.  
Eren grinned at me then, saying, “Yeah, Marco’s too good for you, anyway!”  
  
I wasn’t very amused by that, so the second he turned back around to face the front, I flicked the back of his head, Ymir pulling away from the curb and speeding off down the street.  
  
It had been pretty simple to convince Marco to come with me, telling him I refused to go without him. I wasn’t sure why _I_ was going, though. Armin had insisted I come, saying how Eren and Mikasa were more or less forcing him into it as well, and he’d prefer as many of his friends to be there as possible. That was probably what had persuaded me: he called me his friend. And so, we were all off to yet another party. Yippee.  
This particular party, according to Armin, was a tradition for Trost University, so you just knew there would be an ass ton of people there. But it sounded pretty cool, considering it was being thrown at an old barn out in the middle of nowhere, complete with a hayride and bonfire and drinks all around.  Sitting in the back of Ymir’s van, the cold cans of beer slamming into Marco and I as the vehicle lurched and swayed, memories of my most recent nightmare pervading my thoughts, I found that I was looking forward to the bonfire least of all. It promised psychological torture.  
  
But before the psychological torture came the physical…. I would soon know the pain of being bombarded by beer cans on all sides.  
  
With the barn being deep in the woods, Ymir had to drive along long and twisting country roads, no streetlights whatsoever. It was pretty eerie, having nothing but the van’s headlight (yeah, singular, the other headlight was busted) lighting the way.  
“Watch her get us lost out in the middle of nowhere,” Reiner joked, nudging his boyfriend playfully. Bertholdt, on the other hand, actually terrified, aside from his usual discomfort. He’d also had to hunch over the entire ride, too tall to sit up straight in the cramped space.  
“Have no fear,” Ymir threw us all a wicked grin, “I know a shortcut!”  
  
A brief moment of horror froze me in place as I watched Ymir yank the steering wheel around… and then I was thrown into Marco as the van turned sharply, veering off into the woods. This bitch was going to kill us all. We all bounced around in the van, the rough and rocky terrain shaking us as we rolled downhill, branches snapping to allow vehicle’s passage. We all screamed at the tops of our lungs as we tumbled downhill, Ymir cackling as she drove us to our deaths.  
“YOU CRAZY BITCH!” Connie yelled, his arms shooting forward to grab Sasha, holding her in her seat.  
I clung to Marco, the two of us screaming in pain and horror as the booze rose from the floor and slammed against us, appearing to almost gain some form of sentient intelligence as they attacked. “THE COOLER!” Marco shouted, and I turned to watch as the lid almost seemed to float open, releasing another angry flock of cans, chunks of ice in their midst. I leaped forward and slammed the lid back down, shouting out an irritated “FUCK” as one can collided with my head. The van suddenly jolted, turning to the left and throwing me off. Marco and I were soon covered in ice and cans.  
  
The ride of terror ended just as quickly as it had started, the Shit Wagon coming to a screeching halt. Marco and I collapsed against one another, the cans of beer clattering to the floor, stripped of life. _That’s what I thought, fuckers_. I glared at the cans, daring them to get back up. They didn’t. _Jean wins._  
  
The rest of the passengers were in just as much disarray; I noticed several dents in the roof of the car over Bertholdt’s head. Mikasa had her arms thrown in front of Armin and Eren on either side of her, holding them back, and Christa was clutching desperately at her seatbelt. Reiner was holding onto Annie while Sasha and Connie clung to each other for dear life.  
Ymir was, unsurprisingly, completely unfazed. “We’re here,” she announced. “Get out of my car.”  
  
We didn’t need to be told twice—we were fucking _gone_.  
Except she pulled me back to bitch at me for not keeping the cooler closed, complaining about all the ice in her car and how it was all Marco and I’s fault. The two of us almost got into a fistfight, although I wasn’t entirely sure I could win, but I wasn’t about to admit that. She almost killed us all, and she was pissed at me for not keeping her damn cooler shut!? What the fuck!?  
Reiner ended up pulling me away, though. “Why don’t you grab Marco and go warm up by the bonfire?” he’d insisted.  
  
Marco grabbed me by the arm, and I noticed him shivering slightly, huddling into his jacket. “Come on,” he sighed, pulling me away from Ymir and towards the massive bonfire in the middle of the clearing. I took the time to get a good look at our surroundings, then.  
  
Trees lined the clearing on all sides, forming a massive circle around the bonfire at its center. The flames rose high into the sky, and from within its depths, I could see chunks of old wooden furniture being devoured by the heat. And an orange glow was cast all around, dozens upon dozens of partygoers hanging around its flickering light. As Marco and I continued to make our way across the carpet of dead grass, I noticed a long, fold-up table covered in food and drinks, Sasha and Connie already piling their plates with pizza and chips. Mostly Sasha, though.  
  
Along the edge of the clearing, there was a massive, rickety barn, the wooden structure appearing to be almost rotten, worn with time. Who knew how old the thing was, let alone if it was safe to enter. Nobody seemed to care about safety, however, because colorful strobe lights could be seen pouring out from the large double doors and loft window, pulsing to the beat of the obnoxiously loud music. Maybe it was just me, but I could have sworn the entire barn shook with each thrum of the bass. So many people were trying to fit into the barn, that there was even a mob of drunks milling around outside of it, spilling out the front doors. I watched as Ymir dragged Christa towards the questionably-reliable architecture, Christa grabbing a slice of pizza as she followed.  
  
Marco and I bumped into a few stray drunks as we neared the bonfire. “You always end up making some sort of scene,” he chided, and I pulled my arm out of his grip. “Ymir just barreled through the woods in her shitty car and could have killed us all, and _I’m_ the one making a scene!?”  
He merely laughed, shaking his head, spraying me with flecks of water and half-melted ice that fell from his hair. “Come here,” he said, stepping towards me. “You’ve got some ice in your hair too…”  
I made sure to hold still as he wiped at my damp hair, scowling down at the ground. “I wouldn’t fucking _have_ ice in my hair if Ymir-“  
He swatted the top of my head, effectively shutting me up. “Shush. Forget about it. We’re at a party now.”  
“Yeah, but she’s our ride back.”  
I peeked up at him to see that his formerly cheery expression had fallen flat. “Oh yeah.”  
I snorted, rolling my eyes. “Why do we even come to these things…”  
“ _You’re_ the one who told Armin we’d come,” he reminded me, running his fingers through my hair. I closed my eyes, enjoying the feeling, secretly wishing I could just let him play with my hair for hours on end. But if I told him that, it’d seem a little…. Well, a little gay.  
Marco suddenly withdrew his hand, arm snapping back to his side, like he’d just been caught with it in the cookie jar. I looked up to see him staring off behind me, over my shoulder, a slight flush reddening his cheeks, and I followed his line of sight. But it was only Reiner and Friends™, the three of them conversing happily with one another. Annie leaned against the table of food, Bertholdt standing next to his boyfriend, Reiner laughing obnoxiously loud… same shit as usual.  
I cocked an eyebrow at Marco. “What are you blushing about?”  
“W-what?” He brought a hand up to his face, and he looked genuinely surprised at this groundbreaking news. “I don’t know…”  
I eyed him a bit, glaring suspiciously, but I dropped the subject. Maybe he just saw some raunchy drunks getting it on, hell if I knew. Seemed like the sort of thing that would get Marco all flustered, y’know?  
 _I bet dirty thoughts hardly_ ever _cross his mind, he just seems that innocent…_  
  
“Hey, uh, I’m just gonna go and get a drink,” he said, stepping away from me. “I’ll be right back.”  
“Haven’t you drunk enough this week!?” I called playfully after him, watching his retreating figure. He ignored me, making a beeline straight for the food table.  
  
I turned back around to the fire, shoving my hands deep into the front pocket of my hoodie as a harsh chill swept through me. I shuffled a bit closer to the flames, watching with mild interest as they licked at the wood in its core.  The fire popped, and I was reminded of my recent dislike of fire.  
 _Hey, Marco… I can't even tell which bones are yours anymore.  
  
_ “Shit!” I hissed, stumbling back and away. No, no Marco was alive. He was alive and he’d be back in a moment, he had just gone to get a drink, remember? I turned around to see Marco, hunched over the open cooler and staring in Annie’s direction. _Maybe I should join him_ , I thought, craving his presence. I just wanted him by me, to make sure he was alive at all times, y’know? You can’t have nightmares like that and just not worry about the guy, and I shuddered to even _think_ of living life without him.  
I sidled away from the offending fire, cursing its existence and the discomfort it instilled in me when I noticed something funny out of the corner of my eye….  
It was Connie, Sasha, Eren and Armin, all four of them chatting away animatedly, Armin glancing around nervously and Eren looking pissed as usual. What the hell happened to him as a child to make his face stuck like that, anyway?  
The strange part was, Armin and Eren were there, but Mikasa was nowhere to be seen. Shuffling along quietly, I approached the group, mildly curious and looking for some sort of distraction from the bonfire.  
  
“….uck that, I’m not helping him get some! The guy’s an asshole, Connie, I don’t care what Reiner says..”  
“Eren….eep… voice down,” Armin said quietly.  
“This isn’t about him, this is about Marco! He deserves it, man! Come on, you can’t just _not_ like Marco, that’s a universal impossibility,” Connie persuaded  
I perked up at that; they were talking about Marco. _Jean’s super spy mode, activate._ I halted a mere three yards from them, listening intently.  
“…et to torture him same as always, but better, if you just do this _one thing-_ “  
“Two things,” Sasha corrected.  
“If you just do these _two things_ ”, Connie slipped his hand into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a dollar bill, “you get twenty bucks.”  
Eren took the money from him. “But what are you and Sasha doing? It’s not just me and Armin doing this, is it?”  
“Nah, Sasha and I are gonna round ‘em up on the hayride and-“  
  
A tap on my shoulder caught me by surprise, and I whipped around to find-  
“M-Mikasa!” I yelped, jumping a bit. She looked up at me with a quizzical expression, her dark eyes flitting over to Connie and the others. “Have you been eavesdropping?” she asked.  
 _Shit._  
“Ah, w-what? Nooo… I’m not.. eavesdropping.” I stood up straighter, forcing a grin. And that was when Sasha came up behind me, grabbing me by the arm.  
“Jean!” she beamed, a wicked gleam in her eye. “You wanna ride the hayride with me!?”  
I stiffened up, trying to pull my arm from her grasp, but her hold was too strong. “No,” I answered.  
“Yay! Ok, let’s go, it just arrived!”  
  
And that was how I got forced into the hayride from hell. Sasha pulled me along through the crowds of students, and as much as I dug my heels into the ground and resisted, she refused to free me. She huffed in indignation at my stubbornness.  
“Come on, Jean, you don’t wanna miss the hayride, do you!?”  
“I don’t fucking _care_ about the hayride!” I yelled, trying not to trip as she sped through the throngs of partygoers. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but this was going to suck ass, I already knew.  
Sasha led me onto a long and rickety cart that was chained to a pickup truck, bales of hay lining the insides and serving as seats. Loose straws lined the floor and protruded from the bales, the cart creaking with the weight of each new passenger that boarded.  
  
Sasha shoved me onto one bale of itchy hay, instructing me to sit while she went and grabbed a friend. Because it wasn’t really a hayride unless you had coarse straws scratching at your ass through your clothes. Whoever the fuck thought it would be a good idea to use hay as chairs needed a goddamn mental evaluation, let me tell you.  
Marco soon joined us, plopping down beside me. “Hey, Jean,” he sighed.  
“Hey. I thought you were getting a drink?”  
“I guess I changed my mind,” he growled, and I was about to ask him what had his panties in a knot when Sasha decided to drop her ass onto the bale right next to me, knocking me into Marco.  
“Sorry,” she beamed, and I got the feeling she wasn’t sorry at all.  
  
“Sasha, scoot the fuck over, you’re squishing us,” I grumbled, trying to push Sasha back, but she remained put. What the fuck was that girl made of that made her so small and yet so strong?  
That was when Connie landed right next to Marco, pressing the two of us against one another.  
“No way, we have to fit as many people on here as possible,” Sasha said. And I was about to go off on her, about how much bullshit she was spewing and what the fuck did she think she was doing, but as the cart filled up, I realized that there may have been some truth to her words—dozens and dozens of people piled onto the ride, some sitting on the hay-strewn floor, others sitting on each others’ laps. A select few had even elected to sit along the edge and let their legs dangle off the side of the ride.  
  
As the pickup truck pulled off, the cart lurching, I folded my arms over my chest in dissatisfaction. “This is fucking ridiculous, I didn’t even want to ride this stupid thing,” I grumbled.  
“Me neither,” Marco sighed, and Connie gave out a yelp that suggested there’d been violent action on Marco’s part.  
Connie grumbled something just out of my hearing, to which Marco hissed, “I don’t want your help!”  
  
“What are you guys talking about?” I asked, genuinely interested.  
The two of them jumped, rubbing Marco up against me.  
“Nothing!” the two of them said in unison. Which was a bit suspicious, come to think of it…  
  
Most of the ride was spent in uncomfortable silence, Marco and I smooshed a little too close for comfort. Well, too close for _his_ comfort; the guy was hella warm, and I kinda wanted to… sorta… maybe nuzzle up against him, just a little, ‘cause he was really warm…. And I’m not gay. All I’m saying, is that the dude was really warm. I ain’t fucking gay.  
It probably seemed like I was to the other passengers, though, since the only comfortable position for Marco and I was for me to stretch my arm behind him and rest it along the edge of the cart, almost along his shoulders. But like I said: not gay.  
  
“Do you think I’m too nice to punch you right now, Connie?” Marco said suddenly, halting my thought process.  
“Yes.”  
Apparently, Connie was right, because Marco didn’t punch Connie. Whatever the reason was, I kind of wished he had.  
  
There were several long minutes of rocking and creaking along through the woods, Sasha occasionally “accidentally” bumping me up against Marco until I shoved her back and told her to cut that shit out. That was when the hayride passed by a lake, the black waters practically glittering under the moon.  
“Wow,” Marco gasped, and seeing the way his face lit up as he took in the view was probably one of the best things I’d ever seen. Frogs croaked loudly along the lakeside, a nearby stream welcoming us with the calming sound of water running over rock, a tiny bridge arching over it. A few chirping crickets in a nearby thicket when silent as we passed, and in the cricket’s silence came a loud-ass _‘PLOP’_.  
  
“What the hell was that….?” I wondered aloud. “Did someone throw some kind of rock into the lake?” Several others along the cart were looking out along the water, searching for the source of the noise.  
That was when something tugged at the arm I had around Marco, from _outside the fucking cart_.  
“What the FUCK was _that!?_ I yelled, jumping out of my seat and pulling my arm in. Oh no, oh hell fucking no, I was not in the mood for dealing with that shit. _Not tonight and not ever_.  
I almost crawled into Marco’s lap, grabbing his arm instead with both hands.  
I heard Marco say something to Connie, but I didn’t quite catch it before a _cold, wet hand_ touched the back of my neck. I jerked forward, slamming against Marco.  
“Jean, ouch!” he said.  
“Something just touched me, something out there just touched me, I swear to god!”  
  
That was when an eerie giggling echoed through the woods, and I knew _exactly_ whose giggles those were.  
My eyes narrowed even as I thought the name.  
 _Eren Jaeger.  
_ Sure enough, I turned to find his retreating figure as he took off through the trees and underbrush, heading back to the bonfire. I was pissed as _hell_.  
“I’M NOT FUCKING AROUND WITH YOU, JAEGER, I’LL COME OVER THERE AND BEAT YOUR ASS!” I stood up, intent on clambering out over the hay bales to take off after Eren, but Marco yanked me back down beside him by the arm.  
“Stop being stupid, Jean, the cart is still moving.”  
“Yeah, at an astounding two miles an hour! Let me go so I can-“  
“No. Sit.”  
“He _just fucking_ -“  
“You can beat him up when we get back,” he sighed. I begrudgingly complied, settling back down next to Marco, but I found it much more difficult to relax, still clutching at his arm. I glared suspiciously behind him at Connie, though, remembering his and Eren’s exchange from earlier, and I briefly wondered if the short bald guy had it out for me.  
  
If I had to be honest, the hayride up until that point hadn’t been _that_ bad… at least Sasha and Connie were keeping it interesting by being annoying little fucktards in their own messed up way. Plus, I was starting to warm up! I had to resist pressing my icy hands against Marco’s heated skin. It would have felt so fucking good, though…  
  
It was when I was absentmindedly contemplating Marco’s warmth that the worst shit happened. I have no fucking clue what we did to provoke this, but afterwards, I vowed to never trust either of them again. I wasn’t paying Sasha or Connie any mind, not even saying a word, when Sasha’s finger flew in front of my eyes, pointing in Marcos’ direction. “Look at that!” she exclaimed, and as I turned my head to follow her finger, I thought I could hear Connie’s voice saying the exact same thing….  
I was staring at Marco, nose-to-nose with him, his eyes wide with confusion. Before I could even _comprehend_ what was going on, I felt Sasha’s hand on the back of my head, shoving me forward.  
Our foreheads smashed together with a loud _‘smack’.  
_ “FUCKING- _“_ I cursed loudly, swears spewing from my mouth as I curled forward, hands covering my aching head. It hurt like _hell_ , and I had no idea what we’d done to deserve this! Who the fuck goes around smashing people’s heads together like that!? My forehead throbbed, eyes stinging as Marco clutched at his own head.  
“Sasha, what the hell!?” I yelled over the chorus of laughter that had erupted among the other passengers, rubbing at my sore forehead. Sasha and Connie leaned around Marco and I, looking wide-eyed and bewildered. Sasha shrugged, and I noticed Connie was trying to mouth something, but I couldn’t exactly read lips that well….  
 _Hey wore hippo you wish_??? Eh, something like that. Whatever it was, Marco understood it because he smacked Connie across the head.  
Connie whispered something franticly to Marco, and Marco replied, “Yeah, and you practically gave us concussions in the process! Just stop already! Cut it out!”  
  
Now… this may sound a little out-there. But judging from what Marco had just said, I was starting to think that there was some funny business going on…  
  
I turned to yell loudly at Sasha.  
“What the fuck did we even do to deserve that!?”  
“We weren’t _trying_ to slam your heads like that!” she said, and she looked pretty sincere.  
I scowled. “Then what were you trying to do?”  
She glanced around nervously, seemingly unwilling to answer. “I…. don’t know?” She shrugged up at me, and deciding I’d had enough of all this bullshittery, I wound an arm around her neck in a chokehold and ground my fist into the crown of her head.  
“Whatever you’re trying to do, cut it out!” I snarled, and she squirmed in my grip.  
“Ahhh, ok ok ok! We’ll stop, let me go!” she squeaked, and I released her, her hair frazzled and frayed. She pouted, placing her hand gingerly to the top of her head. “You didn’t have to be so mean about it…”  
I almost pushed her out of the cart right there.  
  
That was when the hayride came to a creaking halt, everyone scrambling out of the cart and heading back in the direction of the bonfire or barn. It took a lot of self-restraint to not kick Sasha out as we got up and stepped off the hayride, and I let out my frustrations through grumbled curses and swears under my breath.  
Connie and Marco were taking their sweet time getting off the cart though, Sasha and I walking ahead of them. I actually had to turn and make sure the two of them were following us, and when I did, I found the two engrossed in what seemed to be a heavy conversation.  
 _What’s Marco talking to Connie about_? I wondered, noting Marco’s somber expression. _He looks pretty serious…_  
Yeah, there was some definite funny business going on. My social perception was crystal clear, and there was no doubt about it.  
“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” I said to Sasha, who’d been peacefully walking along beside me. She cocked her head at my question, as though trying to feign innocence, but I could also see she was fighting back a smile, the corners of her mouth twitching and trembling with the effort.  
“W-what are you talking about?” she said, her voice wavering.  
“You know what I’m talking about! Don’t play dumb, Sasha, I saw Connie slip Eren a twenty!”  
Her eyes widened in surprise at that. “Whaaaaat!? You saw that!?”  
“Aha!” I said, pointing an accusing finger at her. “So there _is_ something going on!”  
She recovered quickly though. “What!? N-no. Connie just lost a bet with Eren, that’s all!”  
I squinted at her, suspicious, but she only smiled wanly at me before glancing away.  
Connie then ran up behind us, tugging Sasha’s ponytail in greeting.  
“Hey!” he said. “What were ya talking about?”  
I glared between him and Sasha. “So,” I began, “I hear you lost a bet with Eren…”  
“What? When?”  
Sasha rammed her elbow into his ribs, and he gave a shout of pain. “The hell are you-!?”  
I watched as Sasha gave him a meaningful look, eyes flitting to stare pointedly at me before returning to Connie’s face.  
“O-oh! I mean, yeah! I lost a bet! Over… a game of Halo. I lost. So.. yeah.”  
“You bet twenty bucks on a round of Halo?” I questioned, raising my eyebrows. He nodded vigorously, but I wasn’t buying it.  
  
But that was when I noticed Marco wasn’t with us. I turned around to see Marco wandering idly along behind us, showing no sign of trying to catch up. I gestured for him to hurry and join us, waving my hand forward.  
He smiled at me, and I felt my heart stutter a bit in my chest. That was.. a little weird.  
  
I noticed he looked a little crestfallen as he jogged forward to walk alongside me.

* * *

  
As soon as we got back, Sasha returned to the table of food, her natural habitat. Ymir and Christa, after having danced to their heart’s content, had eventually reappeared to grab a few drinks before heading back into the writhing mass of drunken dancers. Bertholdt, Annie and Reiner had continued to idly stand about, drinking and talking and laughing the night away. There was one point where Armin had emerged out of some nearby underbrush, twigs and leaves sticking out of his hair as he grumbled about how Eren had left him behind in the woods. I wasn’t sure what part in the whole ‘Scare the hell out of Jean’ incident _he_ had taken part in, but knowing he was a part of it had hurt a little. Was that why he had invited me to come in the first place? I doubted it, but still… In the end, Mikasa had had to go back into the forest and find him.  
 The second I’d spotted Eren after the hayride, I charged forward, determined to fight the little bastard for scaring the living shit out of me and making me look like an idiot, but Marco grabbed me from behind before I could even get _close_. I was so pissed and confused and frustrated and upset and a whole truckload of other things and I was just so eager and fucking _pumped_ to finally take something out on someone, but Marco somehow managed to calm me down and help me cool off. Didn’t stop me from bitching about everything, though.  
  
“What’s up with everyone today?” I said, sipping my drink. I was standing next to Marco several feet away from the bonfire and watching as the flames flickered and danced. “Is it national Piss Jean Off day or something? Did I just not get the memo?”  
I sighed in place of Marco’s silence.  
“I mean, we get thrown into the back of Ymir’s shitty van with all the drinks and end up covered in ice. And then I get pulled onto some lame ass hayride that I didn’t want to ride in the first place! And Eren _fucking_ Jaeger comes out of nowhere and scares the shit out of me. Seriously, who does that!? And what the hell is with Sasha and Connie smashing our heads together like that, huh!? Did we piss them off or something?” I guzzled more of the booze down my throat before looking over at my freckled friend expectantly, waiting for him to say something.  
“What?” he said.  
“I dunno, aren’t you going to say something? Aren’t you upset about all this too?”  
He shrugged, staring into the flames, and he hastily wiped at his watering eyes. “Ueah, I guess so. Not quite as upset about it as you are. Just a little annoyed, I guess.”  
“Huh. And why’s that?”  
He tilted his head to the side, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets. He seemed to be contemplating something, hesitating before opening his mouth again.  
“I guess you culd say… some of our friends really like to meddle in other people’s affairs.”  
I connected the dots. “Is that what you and Connie were arguing about during the hayride?”  
He nodded, seemingly tense, as though ready for a barrage of questions. But… I didn’t want to question him right then. I looked down at my can, swirling it thoughtfully, listening to the liquid slosh around against the metal. I was reminded of our fight, of how my nosiness just resulted in us getting pissed off at each other in the middle of the dining hall. I recalled how Marco’d accused me of being a hypocrite, for not telling him about my nightmares.  
 _My nightmares._  
The light of the fire glinted off the can in my hand, and I scowled at it, remembering..  
And for a split second, it wasn’t even a bonfire I was standing in front of.  
It was a pyre.  
My vision swam before me, and it was then that I realized that tears were pooling in my eyes, threatening to spill over and stain my cheeks.  
“Jean?” I remember Marco murmuring, and from my peripheral vision I noticed him taking a step towards me. I held up my hand, halting him, squeezing my eyes shut and taking a breath.  
  
“Don’t,” I told him, taking my only free hand to pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger, focusing on the pressure there.  
  
 _Remember: Deep breaths._ Armin’s voice came to me, soft and soothing, and I obeyed, inhaling deeply, shoulders rising, before exhaling all of my stress and worry and fear.  
“It’s just been a long week,” I said.  
My hair rustled in the cold wind as I listened to his silence, the steady thrum of the loud music from the barn keeping me grounded, reminding me that I was at a party, and that everyone was alive.  
  
“You did say you’d tell me eventually, you know,” Marco said softly, tentatively, as though he was afraid to bring it up. It was a long moment before I opened my eyes again, but I refused to look at him.  
“Marco,” I said, not even caring how hoarse and scratchy my voice way. I leaned my head back to watch the smoke curl up into the black sky, ash dancing in the wind.  
“Hmm?”  
“If you could choose how you died… how would you go out?”  
The silence that followed that question seemed unbearably heavy, and I held my breath as I waited for his response.  
“Hey,” he said quietly, “Why would you ask something like that….?”  
I didn’t have an answer for him. Well…. I did. I just didn’t want to tell him yet. I didn’t want to freak him out. I blinked away the image of Marco’s rotting corpse, resting along the cobblestones of what I remembered to be my hometown.  
I heard a heavy sigh escape his lips before he answered. “I really don’t know, Jean… I’ve never thought about it before. I don’t know what’s the quickest, or the least painful way to die…” He paused then, and I anxiously awaited his final answer. “But if I had to choose, I’d say, ‘not alone’.”  
  
 _Shit._  
I lifted a shaking hand and curled it around my mouth, closing my eyes as I remembered….  
Wasn’t that exactly how he died!? No one had been around. I hadn’t seen him die, his corpse was just lying there. His body wouldn’t have even been identified if I hadn’t found him, another nameless soldier heaped onto the pyre-  
I was going to be sick.  
“Did I say something wrong?” Marco asked, worry and alarm edging his voice.  
“No,” I croaked. “Just. Tell me what you would want done with your body. After you died.”  
 _Why are you asking him this, Jean?_ I didn’t know what I was trying to accomplish. But a part of me was just dying to know. I wanted to hear him say something that would completely go against my dreams. I wanted him to say something, _right then_ , that would wipe those nightmares out with the hard truth of reality.  
Marco grabbed my shoulder and spun me about so that we stood face to face, his brown eyes staring directly into mine. My hand dropped from my mouth to my side, where it curled into a fist.  
“ _Jean,_ look at me,” he said, brow furrowing with concern. “What is this all about?”  
“Just answer the question,” I said, my grip on my drink tightening to the point that the can bent inward.  
“Listen, you’re kind of scaring me. Why are we talking about dying, anyway? Are you feeling alright?”  
I swallowed, glancing to the side and avoiding his eyes. Why wouldn’t he just answer the question? I needed to hear an answer, and I could swear that my sanity was slipping with each passing moment that he didn’t give me one.  
“Fuckin’ dandy, Marco, now just answer the question.”  
He released my shoulder then, huffing through his nostrils. It was a long while before he answered, the seconds ticking by like years, minutes like centuries.  
“I’d like to be cremated,” he nearly whispered, eyes on the fire.  
  
That wasn’t what I needed to hear. That wasn’t what I needed to hear! It was too real, too vivid, I was starting to believe that _this_ was a dream, some sick fantasy I’d made to escape the painful reality that Marco was dead, his corpse already burned, his ashes scattered. To escape how alone I was, because I couldn’t imagine living life without Marco, hadn’t I said that before? I couldn’t live life without Marco, because Marco _was_ life, a life I couldn’t live if he was gone. _Oh god please tell me it’s only a dream. Why would you say that if it wasn’t a dream? Why would he want his body burned, I’ve already watched it burn once, and I never want to see it again, please don’t let me see it again.  
  
_ “Hey,” Marco’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and I returned to where he stood, surprised to find that he was staring at me. When had he turned? I couldn’t remember. But from where he stood, the fire only illuminated half of his face. Darkness consumed the other half. “You ok?” he whispered. I wasn’t ok.  
  
I shook my head, trying to convey how not-ok I was right at that moment, my lips pressed into a thin line. “You died, Marco.”  
I hadn’t wanted to say it, not out loud, because saying it out loud made it more real.  
“What are you even talking about?” he said, scowling in confusion. “I’m right here… I’m alive.”  
“No, no you don’t get it!” I exploded, my fear boiling into rage; rage at his confusion, his misunderstanding, that I had to say it again, that I had to see him die, that I had to watch his body burn and let his ashes mingle with that of all the other fallen soldiers, that I had felt so left behind and so _alone_ after his death that I would vow to make him proud from whatever cloud he watched over me from, that _I couldn’t even tell which ashes were yours anymore, Marco._ Because if I wasn’t angry, I would cry.  
“….Yeah, I _don’t_. Jean, calm down, tell me what’s going on-“  
“My _dreams_ , Marco, I’m talking about the fucking _nightmares!”_  
He paled considerably, and in the silence of his realization, my pulse thudded loudly in my ears, drowning out all the sounds of merriment and idiocy from the partygoers around us.  
Marco placed his hands on my shoulders, a strong and solid gesture that felt like my lifeline to reality.  
“I’m here,” he said, slowly, calmly, carefully…. His voice shook, though, and I knew he was not as calm as he would like to seem. “I’m here,” he assured, “and I’m alive.”  
“But the nightma-“  
“Was just a nightmare. And nightmares aren’t real…”  
  
He reached down and grabbed my limp hand, placing it palm-to-palm against mine, his hand larger and warmer than mine, and at the moment, it felt stronger than mine too. “I’m not going anywhere,” he told me. “I’m not dying anytime soon.”  
  
And there it was. That was what I needed to hear. My unraveling thoughts quickly weaved themselves back together, the blurred line between reality and dreams becoming clearer.  
  
I refused to let his hand ago. We stood together, him by my side as we stared into the flames. The flames of a bonfire made by college students, and not the pyre built by soldiers, for soldiers, of soldiers. I was not a soldier, and Marco was not a soldier, and we never had to be. And as we stood there, my mind on all the things we wouldn’t have to go through, I could feel Marco’s thumb stroking along mine, a comforting gesture, small and almost unnoticeable; he hummed a familiar tune, the song he’d been writing on piano, and for some reason it brought reassurance, and also déjà vu.  
Because I was staring into a roaring fire, a piece of Marco in my hand.  
Except instead of charred bone and ash, I held his warm hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys! I know I said this would be up a few hours ago, but it took me a little longer. But, like, I think it's better than posting it one or several days later like I've done in the past??? Each improvement counts! In my defense, I suck ass at deadlines, and I apologize for you guys's sleep deprivation on my behalf. U-U  
> I'm going to get working on posting that smut I promised you all now, so you'll have something extra as an apology gift, hhhhh. 
> 
> But, ye! I guess now I can get working on chapter 6, typing up the smut, and answering all your damn asks! Why do I have 18 new messages? ON TOP of my other 40 I already had?  
> I'm going to answer them in the dead of night and hope you all are asleep, hehehehe..  
> Anyway, I love you all, and again, I apologize for the wait!


	6. Whole Homo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With 12% more gay!  
> It only gets gayer from here on out, folks... 
> 
>  
> 
> [Click here for Marco's POV!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/991568/chapters/2143620)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, first order of business!  
> Have you guys listened to [this, yet?](http://askjeanvoice.tumblr.com/post/70345676252/like-a-drum-lownly-script) You might want to! :D (remember to give the VAs who made it possible your love, please and thank you)
> 
> ALSO, check out the art tumblr user lyovan as been making of [this exact scene!](http://lyovan.tumblr.com/post/70061117755/maybe-the-fact-that-this-fic-is-not-updated-yet) It's beautiful! ([and here's the second set](http://lyovan.tumblr.com/post/70391410957/hello-im-back-with-5-more-pages-q-ill))
> 
> //laughs at the now-mature rating. hahaha. this was fun.

_  
Baby cause I'm crazy for you,  
It's not your fault  
It's not your fault, yeah and,  
Maybe I'm a little confused,  
It's not your fault  
_\--AWOLNATION _(Not Your Fault)_

* * *

 _  
We were riding through the wide open fields, green grass in all directions….  
  
A green flare. A red flare. A black flare. What did these flares mean….?  
  
A massive, Female Titan, running at full speed.  
  
Reiner, being crushed in her fist._  
  
“Jean! Jean, wake up!”  
I jerked awake to rough hands on my shoulders, a jolt ripping through me as I was shaken back to consciousness. Shooting straight up, I nearly collided with someone directly above me, the last cries of my nightmare dying on my lips. It took me several long moments to regain awareness of my surroundings, just sitting there in the dark, the loudest sound being my own, ragged panting. I was in Marco’s room again, thank god, a small sliver of golden light spilling into the room from under the doorway. It was enough for me to make out Marco’s figure as he leaned over the bed, pulling his hands away from me once I was fully awake. And without a second thought, I reached forward and grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into my bed, making room for him so that I could tuck my head into his shoulder. Just like my parents used to let me…..  
I didn’t even bother trying to justify my actions with a ‘no homo’, because at that point, neither of us gave a fuck either way.  
We’d done this for around a month, you know.  
  
If you want my honest opinion, I don’t know why we even tried to sleep separate from one another; we always ended up sleeping together ( _platonically_ , I fuckin’ swear) anyway. Every single time I tried to sleep alone, I knew it was useless, and I wanted nothing more than to just hop right into Marco’s bed from the very start, nightmares be damned. Sleeping next to him was my only source of refuge from them, my only cure, and it was difficult to believe that I’d somehow survived without him until that very semester.  
  
I _could_ have just asked Marco to forego the optimistic attitude of, _maybe you won’t have the nightmares tonight_ , and begged him to let me sleep in his bed regardless, but I had plentyof reasons for why that was _not_ an option.  
First and foremost, my pride. Enough said.  
Secondly- and I had only recently become more aware of this- I think it made him _embarrassed._ I began to notice how flushed he would sometimes get whenever we were crammed into a bed together, and it would take him several long minutes just to relax next to me, tense and stiff at first. Did it make him uncomfortable, sleeping this close to another guy? Hell if I knew. But he also had a tendency to silence his discomforts in favor of another’s desires, and I hated to be the one making him uncomfortable. But—and this might be a selfish thing to say, I know—I _needed_ him. I so desperately needed him, even if I would never dare say something so pathetic out loud. Luckily, with Marco, I didn’t really _need_ to say it out loud.  
  
After that barn party a month prior, I’d had to go back to Maria, since I’d holed myself up in Marco’s room for much too long; my roommates couldn’t cover for me for too long, and my RA was starting to get pissed and worried. So I scraped my nights by back in Maria, my nightmares back in full swing, and it wasn’t like I could just cuddle up next to _Connie_ to combat the dreams—that would have been hella fucking weird, not to mention, futile. I doubted Connie could keep the dreams at bay half as well as Marco could.  
Plus, Connie moved around in his sleep a lot and I’d have ended up on the floor anyway.  
  
Throughout November, as best as I could manage, I stayed in my own room, trying to survive until the weekend arrived and I could finally get a good night’s rest next to my best fucking friend in the whole damn world. Each weekend was a welcome release from the terrors of the night, Marco a warm refuge, but I often couldn’t make it through the whole week; sometimes, I’d race to his dorm in the dead of night and sneak into his bed, cracking under the anxiety and fear and apprehension that the dreams brought. Hell, I’d even ended up calling Marco several times over Thanksgiving break, just his voice helping to ebb away my terror. And sweet, sweet Marco was always happy to oblige, waking up and answering his phone and letting me in and making room for me in his bed. The steadily darkening circles under his eyes didn’t go unnoticed by me, although I don’t think sleep deprivation was as much a worry to him as my dreams were.  
  
He tried to stifle his curiosity, he really did, but he still couldn’t keep himself from asking about the nightmares at least every other week. And whenever I would insist that I didn’t want to talk about them, he would drop the subject, letting me off the hook with all the patience of a freckled saint. I appreciated him, truly, I did, and he deserved to know after weeks of coddling me back to sleep like the pathetic child I was, but I just couldn’t bring myself to talk about them.  
I think it was starting to scare him.  
So I’d started sharing small tidbits of the nightmares from time to time.  
  
He knew he’d died in my dreams. He knew Armin, Mikasa and Eren were in them, too. I’d tried to explain the Titans and the Walls, and even the 3D Maneuver Gear, but he seemed to be having trouble comprehending them. Which was completely understandable, but still frustrating as _hell._  
  
On this night, I’d actually expected to get a full night’s rest, and Marco had shared that belief as well; we were tired as fuck, considering the fact that we were up from dawn until dusk, playing in 4-5 feet of snow with all of our friends. I’d actually dragged Marco out of bed super early, getting pegged by Jaeger a few times on my way to Sina, that insufferable prick.  
But even though Marco and I had been completely _exhausted_ when we fell into our respective beds, the nightmares still came, and so there I was, curled up against my best friend as I listened to his almost-silent breathing.  
My own breath was harsh in comparison, and I made it a goal to match my pace with his, inhaling and exhaling along with him. It helped, and ever so slowly, my breathing slowed to a more natural pace, my hammering heart managing to calm down as well.  
And I tried to go back to sleep.  
  
Except I couldn’t. Images from the nightmare kept replaying in my mind, over and over and over again. Reiner. The She-Titan. Armin. The flares. **  
  
 “** I can’t sleep,” I finally said, shifting in place next to Marco. He pulled his arms away before propping himself up on one elbow, lying on his side and looking down at me.  
“Sorry,” he whispered. He bit his lip in the dark, thinking, before saying, “Do… you wanna talk about it?”  
I let out a deep groan, rolling onto my back and hiding my eyes behind my forearm. _Do I look like I wanna fuckin’ talk about it?  
_ “Do I have to?” I sighed.  
“No.”  
Okay. Strange response. I lifted my arm a bit to peek over at my freckled friend, curious.  
“I _asked_ if you wanted to talk about it,” he went on, chuckling. “I didn’t say you _had_ to.”  
I thought about that. I mean… there would be an awful lot to talk about, and I hated keeping Marco awake…  
“Do you wanna _listen_ to me talk about it?”  
He scowled at me—actually _scowled_ , his nose scrunching up a bit—and said, “Are you serious right now, Jean? I’m dying to hear more, I really am, but you never want to explain.”  
“Okay, okay, yeah I know, I just… don’t know where to begin.”  
“Hmm, well, what about what happened in your dream just now?”  
“……”  
He took my silence as an opportunity to poke me in the stomach, taking advantage of how ticklish I was and making me jump. Asshole. His laugh was cute, at least.  
“Stop that,” I croaked, trying my hardest not to smile. And failing. “It’s just a little complicated.”  
“Weeeelllll, what about Reiner?”  
I flinched at that, images from my dream flashing through my mind. “W-what about Reiner?”  
“Jean, you said his name when I woke you up, remember?”  
I hummed, thinking. “Did I….?” I wondered out loud, more to myself than to Marco. “I _don’t_ remember, actually…”  
“Sooo,” he went on, refusing to back down, “Reiner is in your dreams too?”  
I nodded against the pillow. “Yeah.”  
To be honest, I was starting to have second thoughts about talking to Marco about all of this. Maybe I should just try to go back to sleep again….?  
  
“Reiner, Armin, Mikasa, Eren and me… are those all the people you remember in your dreams?” he pressed.  
“No. Marco, it’s a lot more. Connie and Sasha are there too. And Ymir. And Christa. And Bertholdt and Annie and—“ I stopped myself there, hating how my voice had cracked. Fucking pathetic.  
“Shh.” Marco placed a hand on my shoulder, an attempt at comfort, but I was a little beyond that at that point. “Okay, so pretty much all of us… and who else?”  
“….”  
 _I’m not going to tell you about her.  
_ “Jean?”  
“No one.” _  
_“Fine, okay,” he said, dropping the subject. I was sure he wasn’t entirely convinced. “So you have nightmares about your friends…? I feel like there’s some kind of psychological significance to this, but-“  
“No!”  
  
I stopped him midsentence, sitting up as fast as I could, a rush of annoyance sweeping through me. “No, you don’t understand!”  
Marco let out an almost silent puff of air, and the next time he spoke, his voice was much softer. “What, Jean? Just tell me what I don’t understand.”  
I chewed my lip pensively before continuing, not sure how he would react to what I would tell him next. Either he would call me crazy, or start freaking out, yeah? “I had dreams about you all before we’d even _met_ , and if there’s some kind of ‘psychological significance’ to _that_ , then please, go on!”  
  
“Y-you… dream about us before we met?” he repeated, clearly having trouble comprehending it. I nodded jerkily, avoiding looking directly at him. Here we go. Would he call me crazy? Would he freak out? Maybe he would even just brush it aside as my own special case of schizophrenia.  
  
“Oh my god.”  
“Hm?” _Is he gonna freak out?  
_ “The… the day I let you see my notes. You said… I looked familiar. Is that because…?”  
I nodded again, and for a second, he looked like he was going to be sick.  
“This is really weird,” he said.  
 _‘This is really weird’_!? I barked out a dry laugh, his response awakening some kind of foul cynicism in me. “You don’t fuckin’ say,” I told him.  
“What do they _mean_ , though?”  
“Hell if I fucking know. You think I haven’t thought about it before?” I really had thought about it. A lot. “Armin doesn’t know either…”  
Marco’s brow furrowed at that, a slight frown tugging at one corner of his mouth. “You tell Armin about the dreams?”  
I nodded again, favoring jerky head movements over shaky words. I didn’t want to come off as a _totally_ pathetic brain-damaged loser, y’know? But Marco didn’t seem to mind, and just plowed right on through with more questions.  
  
“But how long have you been _having_ these dreams?”  
I just shrugged, my shoulders rising ever so slightly. “As long as I can remember. Since I was little. I stopped telling my parents about them after third grade.”  
“How come?”  
“They said they’d start sending me to therapy if I didn’t get it together. Told me to grow up and get used to them. Stop confusing dreams and reality, because I wasn’t five years old anymore.”  
  
Marco was quiet for the smallest of moments, a reverent moroseness tinging the air. I had my shoulders hunched and face downcast, not really wanting to look directly at him. But then he was shifting around, scooting over until he was sitting right next to me with our backs to the wall, and his warm shoulder was pressed against mine  
“That sounds a little… harsh,” he said softly.  
I shrugged. “Was it really?”  
“Yeah. It sounds like they treated you like,” and here, his voice was tender, as though he was afraid to step on a mine of some sort, tentative and soft, “a problem.” Ouch. It kind of _was_ a minefield to be honest. It wasn’t the first time I’d been referred to in that way. “Like you’re messed up or something.”  
  
I sighed. “But I _am_ a problem. I _am_ messed u-“  
“No, you’re not!”  
“Really, Marco? You’re gonna try and tell me I’m not messed up when I can’t even sleep without crawling into bed with you every night? This is that shit that _three_ _year olds_ do, and I’m eighteen!”  
“Yeah, well your nightmares don’t sound like normal ‘ol nightmares, either…”  
“Like I said: I’m a problem.”  
“Stop that!” Marco’s raised voice caught me by surprise, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. “You’re not a problem, you _have_ a problem, and there’s a big difference between the two. So stop saying awful things about yourself.”  
  
It was quiet for several long moments while I let that sink in. Marco didn’t think I was crazy. Marco didn’t think I was a problem, even when I was a constant cause of sleep deprivation for him. Marco didn’t want me saying awful things about myself.  
“Thanks, Marco.”  
“No problem.” His voice was colored with relief, a small sigh escaping him.  
I swallowed, then said, “I think you like me more than _I_ like me.”  
“How much _do_ you like yourself?”  
“Not very much, I guess…”  
He was quiet for a small, thoughtful moment. And then, “Well, that’s ok then. That just means I’ll have to love you enough for the both of us.”  
  
A warm surge of affection spilled through me at that, starting from my chest and spreading through my limbs and all the way to my fingers and toes. I sorta wanted to cuddle up to him when he said that, and wrap my arms around him, an-  
 B-but not in a _gay_ way! J-just…. In a “you’re my best friend and I love you” sort of way, okay!? That’s a thing, right!? I shook the thoughts away, permitting myself a quiet chuckle at my stupid thoughts, and said, “I love you too, man.”  
Ah yes, ‘ _man’_.  
Social protip number 68: Adding a ‘man’ after telling your best bro that you love him is guaranteed to remove any possible gay contained within that sentence. In fact, I was pretty sure it even made it _negative_ gay.  
 _Excellent job, Kirschtein!_ I mentally high-fived myself.  
  
“What happens in the dreams, Jean?”  
I let out a deep sigh, my head falling back against the wall with a _‘thump’_.  I’d known I’d have to tell him sometime, and now seemed just a good a time as ever.  “You really wanna know?”  
“Of course.”  
His unfaltering curiosity was actually really endearing, and I know it was only because he cared so much, but the idea of talking about it…. Well, might as well get it over with, I guess.  
  
“I already told you about the… giants, yeah?”  
He nodded.  
“I mean, they’re not called _giants,_ not in the dreams, at least. They’re called Titans. And everyone, every single person that’s still alive, lives inside the walls. The walls keep them out.”  
“Because they eat people.”  
“Yeah,” I choked out before continuing. “And there are some of us… I-I mean, _them,_ that go out and fight the Titans. Kill them. But more of us die than _they_ do. So many die, Marco…  
                “They got in. There was a massive Titan, higher than the outermost wall, and it… it broke the gate. It let them all in. They got in, and so many were eaten.” I had to take a deep breath before continuing, my voice shaking. I didn’t really want to go into this next part, but Marco deserved to know. “And, uh… we enlisted into the military. We were just a bunch of kids.”  
  
I brought my hands up to my face, rubbing at my eyes before I dragged my fingers downward over my mouth and nose. I stared blankly over my fingertips towards the light spilling out from under the door.  
  
“We were all there. A bunch of trainees. I don’t remember how many years we all trained together… was it two? No, longer… maybe three. We were going to join the Military Police, you and me. We would be safe, behind the tallest wall, we’d be serving the King. And I remember Eren, too.” I had to remind myself not to sneer, recalling how reckless he was, how _angry_ he’d been. Rightly so, but still.  “We fought just as much as we do now, probably more. He was a suicidal bastard, vowing to kill all the Titans, the bloodthirsty fuck. He wanted to leave the walls, and Armin and Mikasa followed him wherever he went.”  
I took another deep breath through my nose, exhaling through my mouth. I briefly contemplated asking Marco if I could stop there for the night and go to bed, but if that happened, who knew when I’d be ready to talk about it again? Plus, winter break was coming up soon.  
  
“And we were about to graduate. We’d made it into the top ten, Marco, we were going to be safe in the Military Police together.” Another deep and shuddering breath, and I had to swallow past a thick lump in my throat. Marco reached his hand out, fingers searching for mine, but I shooed him away.  
“I’m fine,” I told him, continuing. “That was when you died. You were sixteen years old.”  
  
I stopped, holding my breath. If Marco let me, I’d stop there. But as luck would have it….  
“But… how?”  
  
I released the air I’d been holding in my lungs, swallowing loudly.  
“…Titans got in. They sent the trainees to go fight them off. It wasn’t enough, and a lot of us died. But I didn’t even _see_ you die, I just-“  
And as hard as I tried to hold back tears, a sob somehow managed to escape, the memory of Marco’s corpse burned into the forefront of my mind. I felt Marco’s hand grab mine, and instead of swatting him away again, I gripped it tighter. I needed to feel him. Although I was seeing his lifeless body in my mind’s eye, my hand was holding his, alive and warm and moving and pulsing. He was ok. And so was I.  
  
“I found your body. Identified it. Pieces were missing.” I cleared my throat, unwilling to delve into the morbid details, so _why wasn’t I stopping_? “Half your face and upper body. Watched you burn-“ My other hand came up to my mouth, my teeth digging into one of my knuckles as I fought back tears. The pyre. The ashes. The Recon Corps.  
Marco threaded his fingers between mine and began rubbing his thumb along mine, and I found it oddly comforting.  
“Shh,” he hushed me. “You don’t have to say anymore, Jean. I’ve heard enough.”  
Another shuddering sob wracked through me, and I just barely managed to swallow it down, remembering to take deep breaths. I refused to loosen my grip on Marco’s hand, clinging desperately to him until I somehow managed to calm down.  
  
It took a while, my heart slamming against my rib cage, breathing loud and harsh. But when Marco started to hum his song, the song he wrote on the piano, I relaxed, until my head was resting on his shoulder. He continued to stroke along my thumb and I loved hearing him hum, my ear wonderfully close to his throat as his vocal chords vibrated. I could listen to him forever.  
Aside from the fear and anxiety that discussing the nightmares had brought me, there was also a surge of pride spreading through me. I had finally told him about them! I mean, not _everything_ , I had only really summarized the dreams for him, but even _that_ much was a small accomplishment in my book. And then I remembered…..  
  
“Hey, Marco.”  
He flinched in surprise, making my head jerk against his shoulder.  
“Y-yeah?”  
I chewed my lip for a small moment before saying, “Didn’t we make a deal?”  
  
“Ah. Well. Um… I don’t remember? Did we make a deal?”  
“Come on, Marco,” I growled, “don’t make me dig through all our text messages just to refresh your memory. If I told you about my nightmares, you were supposed to tell me what was up with you. Remember _now_?”

His body froze up then, and I knew that he _did_ remember. Whatever he’d been hiding from me for the last month, he was gonna come clean about it now! My heart started to pick up the pace again, except it was from excitement rather than fear.  
  
“…Can I just, y’know, feign ignorance for now?” he asked.  
 _Oh hell no._  
I did not just talk about those god awful nightmares, just to be given a snub-y answer like _that_. Marco seemed to sense my annoyance, groaning loudly as he pulled away from me and let go of my hand. He backed away from me, swallowing loudly as he fidgeted his fingers with nervous energy.  He really didn’t want to tell me, huh?  
  
“Is it really such a big deal that you can’t tell _me_?” I muttered, bitter. What the hell could it possibly be? I was his best friend, wasn’t I? I was very proud of that title, in case you couldn’t tell.  
“No…” he said, hanging his head.  
I grinned over at him in the dark, excitement coursing through my veins. “So you’ll tell me!?” Marco looked a little bit sick, as far as I could tell in the dimly-lit room, but he’d be a-okay once he got all this off his chest, right!?  
  
“I guess…”  
  
I scooted closer to him, giving him my complete, undivided attention and folding my legs up under me. I was so eager to finally know what’d been bothering him, it was _insane._ He was going to tell me what he’d been keeping from me for over a month!? Hell yeah!  
  
With shaking hands, he ran his fingers through his hair, an adorable blush darkening his features. N-not that I thought he was adorable!  
Well, actually, fuck it, he was adorable, and any man, woman or child who disagreed was visually impaired.  
  
“Okay,” he began, and I instinctively leaned forward. “So. I actually… I’ve been fighting with myself.. urg, okay, l-let me start over. Ugh.” His stuttering was cute too, and such an ambiguous start made my heart hammer faster.  
“I… _like_ someone…”  
“What. Who!?” I leaned in even closer, my nose practically touching his, and his eyes were wide with surprise and fear. Who the hell could Marco possibly like!? And why hadn’t he told me sooner!? I didn’t know why, but my stomach was flip flopping to an almost painful extent.  “Why didn’t you tell me! It’s nothing to hide, dude, we’re not in the fucking fourth grade! So, who is it!? Is she hot?” I furrowed my brow a bit. “It’s not Mikasa, is it?”  
“N-no,” he stammered, “Jean, calm down, I-“  
“Do I know her, then?”  
“ _Jean,_ seriously… augh. Just, _listen_ to me, alright?”  
I shut my mouth at that, teeth clicking together with an audible _‘snap’_. I just wanted to know who this chick was. Who had managed to earn Marco’s affection!? There were very few people in my book who even had the _right_ to be liked by Marco. But then again, Marco was a pretty sweet guy, and it was easy for him to find the best in others. Loving came easily to him. He was best friends with _me_ of all people, after all...  
Marco took a deep breath before beginning again. He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully, and I got the feeling that he felt as though he were treading on eggshells. “What would you say,” he said, “If I told you… that the person I like is..i-is a guy?”  
 _What._  
It caught me by surprise, to say the least. I hadn’t been expecting _that_. Marco… liked a guy? A _guy_ had earned his affection?  
“….You didn’t tell me you’re into guys,” I said, my voice quiet and hushed.  
“W-well, I, uh, I mean…. I’m into girls too, I-I guess… I’m fine with either?” His brown eyes searched my face, eyes flitting back and forth between mine. His blush seemed to darken with every passing second.  
  
I sat up a bit and pulled my face away from Marco’s, scowling to myself. I felt… _hurt_. Like damn, he had been afraid to tell me for the longest… because it was a dude? What did he think I’d do?  
“Is that why you didn’t tell me about this before?” I asked. “Because you like a guy?”  
He looked away from me and nodded, opting to look down at his legs instead of meet my gaze. Ouch.  
  
“So, you didn’t trust me?” I spat through gritted teeth. It hurt just to fucking _say_. He snapped his eyes back up to meet mine.  
“N-no! That’s not-“  
“Did you think I’d stop being your friend if I found out?”  
Marco looked like a deer caught in headlights, mouth gaping open, not sure what to say. It was practically a confirmation. If _that_ wasn’t why, then what other reason could there possibly be!? Yeah, that’s right, fucking none. I mean, I knew I was an awful person, but awful enough to stop being friends with someone over their sexuality!? What had I done to make him think that!?  
  
Marco sighed, a hollow puff of air blowing past his lips, and he looked back down at the bed. I was prepared to fight, and argue, maybe even stomp my way back to Maria in the middle of the night if I had to. I was hurt and pissed off and upset, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. But what I _wasn’t_ prepared for, was what he said next.  
  
“I’m sorry….” His voice was small and weak, barely a whimper, and I could hear him swallow in the darkness. “I’m really sorry, Jean.” His voice cracked, and it actually sounded like he was choking on my name.  
 _Aw fuck._  
Before I even knew what I was doing, my fists had uncurled and my arms were wrapped around Marco, tucking his head into the crook of my neck. “Heeeey,” I breathed against his ear, “Relax, it’s okay… Well, actually, no it’s not, it still kinda hurts that you were afraid to tell me, but I get it, yeah? But I ain’t gonna leave you just because of something that ridiculous. Dude, I _live_ with Bertholdt and Reiner, so I really don’t know where you got the idea that I’d stop being your friend over something so stupid.”  
He sniffled and sighed into my shoulder at that, and a dull ache resonated from somewhere deep within my chest. Shit, I didn’t know how to make him feel better…. But he’d always done the same for me, so I had to at least try.  
“And you know what? I’ll always be your friend, whether you’re hunting for dick or pussy or both.”  
  
I felt Marco stiffen against me, and I briefly wondered whether or not my attempt had been successful or not when one of his arms reached around and began to lightly pat my back. “As eloquent as ever, Jean.” His voice was muffled against the fabric of my shirt.  
“Damn  straight,” I said, releasing him from my hold. Upon scooting back, I quickly reevaluated what I’d just said. “I mean… Damn _not_ straight.” I cocked my head to the side ever so slightly. “Damn… gay?”  
  
He stared at me for a second, before a smile slid over his lips and his shoulders were shaking with ill-contained laughter. Tiny chuckled quickly grew in volume until it was boisterous laughter, and he fell on his side onto the bed, clutching his stomach, face flushed from lack of oxygen. I could listen to his laugh forever, and it made me so fucking _proud_ that I’d been the one to make him laugh like that. I wanted to make him laugh more.  
“It wasn’t _that_ funny,” I said, unable to keep myself from smiling as I watched him.  
“I know,” he managed, gasping for breath. “I’m just so happy.”  
I chuckled at that, reaching forward to muss his soft hair playfully, stroking my fingers along his silky, dark locks. It was always really soft after he took a shower. _If you’re happy, then I’m happy too,_ I thought, leaning over him. As I looked down at Marco, watching him as he caught his breath, I took the time to admire him. His cute round nose. His warm brown eyes. The freckles I could just barely make out in the dim light. Marco was so cute and sweet and perfect, and whoever he liked was a lucky guy.  
  
My heart felt heavy as I thought about that. What kind of guy had Marco fallen for?  
“So, who is it?”  
Marco stared blankly up at me, a cute blush dusting his features. “What?” he said.  
“You know, the guy you like. Who is it?”  
His eyes widened to nearly the size of dinner plates, and I was afraid they’d start bugging out of his head.  
“I can’t tell you,” he choked out.  
“What!?”  
He sat up as quick as he could. “Because! I… just can’t!”  
“Seriously!?” I whined. “You can’t tell me, of all people!?”  
“Look, it’s nothing personal, alright? I just don’t feel ready to tell you…”  
I sighed, throwing my hands up in resignation. “Fine. I’m not going to make you talk about it if you don’t want to. Not like I _could_ make you, after all.”  
He blushed again at that, all innocent and cute, and it was starting to drive me crazy. I couldn’t keep thinking of my best friend as cute, it just wasn’t healthy.  
  
“It’s not Jaeger, is it?” I asked.  
“Huh?”  
“Come on, Marco, stay with me. The guy you like. It’s not Jaeger, right?”  
He leaned towards me at that, grinning wickedly. “And what if it _is_ him, huh? Would you stop being my friend?”  
“Yes.”  
The grin dropped off his face so fast, it was _ridiculous_ , and it took every ounce of willpower I had to not just burst out laughing right then and there. But before long, a smile broke through, and I broke out into laughter. He smacked me.  
“Jean! Don’t play like that, you scared me!”  
“I’m sorry man,” I managed between chuckles, “but your face!”  
He growled, scowling at me, and I quickly composed myself, coughing to mask a chuckle as I caught me breath. “But seriously, you should know better than to believe something like that.”  
Marco frowned, then said, “Well good. Because I _do_ like Eren. Thanks for your support.”  
I stiffened up at that, my eyes widening. Marco liked _Eren!?_ “A-are you serious?”  
He nodded, biting his lip, and he looked _dead_ serious.  
“What the fuck!?” No way. This couldn’t be happening, right? My perfect Marco liking that _asshole!?_ “You can _not_ be serious. What do you even _see_ in that guy!? He’s a jackass!” I was going Jaeger hunting in the morning.  
But then Marco was shaking, snickers and chuckles and snorts fighting their way past his lips.  
I scowled and shoved him over, and he collapsed back onto the bed as he as wracked with peals of laughter. “You totally believed me!” he chuckled, pointing a finger at me, and I swatted it away, annoyed. Sometimes I forgot how dastardly he could be.  
  
It wasn’t long after that when we fell asleep, finally worn out from our heavy conversation, almost slap-happy. I pleaded and begged Marco for more clues about who his crush was, but he was unrelenting. It felt more than a little unfair to me. Because the possibilities kept swirling around and around in my head, endless.  
I fell asleep with my legs tangled up in Marco’s, his breath tickling the crown of my head, one last thought surfacing before I fell into the depths of unconsciousness. Because I would have _never_ allowed myself to think this, had I been in the correct frame of mind.  
But my last thought before I fell asleep was, _If Marco is capable of falling for a guy… why couldn’t he fall for me, instead?_

* * *

  
  
That weekend was nothing short of a blast. We had a shit ton more snowball wars, and I got to slam Jaeger with snowballs countless times. It was great. Marco and I never left each other’s side once that weekend, spending as much time as we could with one another. And I took the time to carefully observe his interactions with every guy we came across. The one man who was hurrying through the snowball onslaught to his dorm. Armin, who’d used Marco as a temporary meat-shield. Bertholdt, who’d slung Marco over his shoulder and raced away in an attempt to capture a prisoner of war. I valiantly rescued him, in case you were wondering.  
But as far as I could tell, I could detect no hidden feelings from Marco towards any of the guys we ran into that weekend. Damn, he was good.  
  
It pissed me off. I didn’t know why, it just did! Who could Marco possibly like!? Did Marco have a type? What _was_ his type? Why did he like them? Because they were hot? _Hey, I’m hot too!_

  
And so after a long weekend spent out in the snow, I found myself huddled up on the couch in the sitting area of my dorm on a Sunday night, engaged in a lengthy round of Black Ops with my roommate. I thought that it might actually help to relieve me of my stress and frustration, but it was only proving to be an inhibitor. “Move out of the fucking way, Connie”, I said, nudging him with my elbow while my character onscreen raced past.  
“Jean, you ok?” he asked, his soldier chucking a grenade at the opposing team.  
“I’m fucking fabulous, why wouldn’t I be?” I scowled, leaning forward and glaring at the television.  
“Because you’re kind of being a Grade-A asshole today,” he answered, hitting me with a round of friendly fire. I nearly swung around and clocked him upside the head with my controller.  
“I am not!”  
“Uh, yeah, you kind of are! What’s up?”  
“……..”  
“Jeaaaaan?”  
“It’s nothing!” I insisted.  
“’Nothing’ my ass. Come on, dude, just spill. I saw you kick a kitchen chair over earlier.”  
I growled at that, huffing indignantly. “I can’t tell you. Marco told me in the strictest confidence.”  
Connie let go of his controller then, dropping it on the couch and turning to me.  
“Hey! We’re gonna die-“  
He ripped my controller from my hands as well. “Don’t care. So. This is about Marco, huh?”  
I cocked a brow at him, ignoring the screams from our companions onscreen. “Yeeeeaaaaaah….. so what?”  
Connie crossed his arms, frowning lazily at me as he slumped down in his seat. “Soooo, I think I already know what this is about.”  
I sat up straight. “You do…?”  
“Maybe.”  
“Come on, Connie, don’t play games like this. What do you know?”  
“I dunno. What do _you_ know?”  
“Connie,” I growled, drawing out his name through gritted teeth.  
“Okay, okay, I’ll go first. So. _I_ think Marco likes someone.”  
  
I let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Really? That’s all? I _know_ he likes someone, he told me so!” I had the upper hand on Connie. Hell yes.  
“Oh, okay good,” he smiled. “Then we’re on the same page. I know who he likes.”  
   
I nearly lunged at him, sneering at the smug expression he wore. “How!?”  
“Because I’m not blind,” he countered. “It’s hella obvious.”  
“I think you’re bluffing.”  
Connie stared at me long and hard, before saying, “I think you don’t know who Marco likes.”  
Shots fired. Well okay then.  
“S-so what? Neither do you!”  
“Dude, I wasn’t lying when I said I know who he likes. Because I do.”  
  
I glared at him. “Really?”  
“Yeah, really.”  
Well. He seemed sincere enough. “So…. You know he likes…. a guy?”  
He blinked slowly, clearly unfazed. “Uh, yeah. Duh.”  
I really did lunge at him that time, fisting my hands in his hoodie. “What do you mean, _duh_ , you smartass!?”  
“I mean exactly what I said! Duh!” he shouted back. “It’s obvious!”  
And it was exactly at that moment that I stopped viewing Connie as a mere nuisance, and more as a shining beacon of light. “Who is it?” I asked softly, slowly releasing the front of his hoodie. “Who does Marco like?”  
“Not telling you.”  
 _AGH, GOD FUCKING DAMN IT.  
_ “Connie, what the fuck!?”  
  
He merely shrugged, nonchalant. “Marco’s gotta be the one to tell you, dumbass. It’s not my business to go spreading it around.”  
“Dude, that’s bullshit. You are one of the most gossipy, sons of bitches I know.”  
“Hey!” He scowled. “I can have morals sometimes!”  
I glared pointedly at him.  
“Besides. Telling you constitutes as _meddling_. And then I’d lose the bet for sure.”  
“Bet!?”  
Connie chuckled, and I had half a mind to punch his sorry ass.  
“Please, man, just give me a clue! What does he look like? Do I know him? Is he tall? _Is he better looking than me?_ ”  
Connie backed up a bit, raising his eyebrows. “Uh…. Why does it matter? Marco’s your _friend,_ not your _boy_ friend. Who cares if he likes a dude who’s hotter than you?”  
I had no response for him. Why _did_ I care if he liked a dude who was hotter than me? Marco could date whoever the fuck he wanted to, right!? So why did I care so much?  
  
Angry and more frustrated than ever, I stood up from the couch and stomped my way to my room, throwing myself on my bed and kicking my shoes across the room. I vowed to never speak to Connie about Marco’s love interest ever again.  
I broke that vow the second he walked into our room. And I continued to break that vow for the rest of the week. Personal confusion aside, I had to know who Marco liked. It was driving me crazy, and I had no idea why it got under my skin so much. Why did it make me so damn angry!? The worst part was, I had no one to throw my anger at. Marco could like anyone. Which was the same as saying he liked everyone and no one. Each guy I saw could be the exact guy Marco had feelings for, but it wasn’t _everyone,_ it was only one. One out of how many possible dudes? No one could be trusted.

* * *

  
  
Thursday brought the bitter sting of failure and the sweet relief of freedom. Failure because Connie was much better at keeping secrets than I gave him credit for, and freedom because finals were officially over. Studying was brutal and I hated it, but Marco had been a great help, and at times, a welcome distraction.  He still wouldn’t tell me who he liked, though.  
It was stupid, and felt like child’s play. It was a massive game of “he said she said” and “who do _you_ like”, straight out of elementary school, and it was getting on my nerves. So at least for Ymir’s Christmas party, I was just going to forget about the whole thing and enjoy my time with Marco.  
  
Yeah, yeah, I know, _another_ party. But let’s get real here; we didn’t party _nearly_ as much as most college kids did. Not to mention, this “Christmas party” hardly counted as a _real_ party. That’s why Ymir called it a “get together”. Marco thought the title was ridiculous. The truth was that it was just an excuse for all of us to see each other and hang out one last time before winter break. And by “all of us”, I mean Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Reiner, Bertholdt, Annie, Connie, Sasha, Christa, Marco and myself. Not to mention the hostess herself.  
  
I wasn’t exactly looking forward to winter break. In fact, I wished it didn’t even exist. Or if it did, that I could at least spend it with Marco. Instead I had to go home and make appearances at my parents’ fancy corporate dinners, and then wander around our house alone and be treated like I hardly existed. Ah yes, wonderful holiday cheer. Plus the fact that I’d have to survive the nightmares alone again. I’d been dreading winter break so much that I’d spoiled myself rotten the previous few days, letting myself crawl into Marco’s bed each night and refusing to pack. I told him I’d pack the night before, no big deal.  
  
“What the fuck is that?” I asked.  
The two of us were standing in Marco’s room, waiting around for Armin to pull up in his SUV and give us a ride to Ymir’s. At the moment, I was frowning disgustedly at Marco’s hideous holiday sweater.  
“What? Come on, Jean, it’s a Christmas sweater! We’re going to a _Christmas_ party, after all!”  
“Christmas or not, that sweater is tacky as hell.”  
Normally, I wouldn’t care what ugly apparel Marco chose to wear. He actually had pretty great taste in clothes. But _this_!? This was a dark blue sweater with an _actual fucking gingerbread house_ on the front and a snow-covered lawn decorated with candy canes. There was even a stupid little gingerbread couple holding hands in front of their gross, candy-covered door, and to top it all off, Santa in his sleigh with his reindeer were shown flying over the frosted roof. It was awful, made about ten times worse by the disturbing smiles the gingerbread people were giving me. It kinda gave me the creeps.  
“That’s the point!” Marco insisted, stretching out his sweater so I could view the atrocity in high definition. I shielded my eyes from the disgusting corruption.”Ugly sweaters are a part of Christmas!”  
“At least you know it’s ugly..” I grumbled.  
He rolled his eyes in response, seemingly brushing off my reactions as ‘ridiculous’ and ‘overdramatic’. “You really need to get in the holiday mood.”  
I snorted. “I never liked Christmas.”  
“Alright, Grinch. Way to be a party pooper. I do find it a little strange, though, I’d have thought you’d be into the whole ‘free stuff on Christmas’ thing.”  
I smirked at him. “I could always get free shit whenever the fuck I wanted, Christmas was no special occasion. My family never even decorated.”  
  
He frowned at me, furrowing his brow thoughtfully. And then he said, “Hm. Well, your views on Christmas regardless, I’m not going to be the only one wearing an ugly sweater.” He turned around to his wardrobe and opened it up, rifling through the contents with his back turned. I got a brief view of his ass before I realized what I was staring at and jerked my eyes away, ashamed.  
In my defense, an ass was an ass, and in no way made me gay! Girls had asses too, after all. I was allowed to say when someone had a nice ass.  
And Marco’s was one of the nicest.  
  
“Oh god no,” I finally said, trying to peer over his shoulder as he continued to paw through his clothes. “Please tell me you don’t have another holiday monstrosity in there.”  
“Ah-hah!” He quickly whipped around, a wire hanger in hand, and from that wire hanger hung one of the most puke-inducing sweaters I’d seen in my entire life. He swiped his hand over it, showing it off like he was in an advertisement or some shit. I let out a horrified shriek.  
This sweater was fucking awful. It was worse than the one Marco was wearing, and that was saying something. _This_ sweater was a deep, almost sewer-waste green, adorned with a massive close-up of Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer. It was cartoonish and silly and It made me want to gag, his little hooves resting on the bottom of the sweater. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that the nose _actually fucking lit up_.  
  
“Marco, I’m not wearing that,” I deadpanned.  
“Yes you are!” he chimed, stepping slowly towards me. One step. Two steps.  
I took a step back.  
And then he was lunging at me, tackling me to the floor with the sheer force of his weight.  
  
Under most circumstances, I could have easily escaped. Pfft, I’m Jean Kirschtein, after all! But, uh… this was a special circumstance. Marco was absolutely _ruthless_ , ripping my shirt off quicker than I could protest, but even _shirtless_ I could have escaped.  
Except. Well. He was kind of straddling me. And sitting on my dick.  
It wouldn’t have been a problem if he hadn’t moved so much! At least, that’s what I _told_ myself, because I wasn’t gay, and most certainly not for my best friend. Or his ass.  
He rocked forward to grab my arms, pinning them to the side before slamming back down, putting pressure and friction on my groin and sending hot jolts of pleasure through me, and I started to panic, kicking my legs out and writhing beneath him. But it was no use, because the more I fought, the more he moved, and the more blood that rushed down to fill my cock. It _definitely_ wasn’t helping that I was thinking of his sweet ass, and how it was rutting down against my dick.  
 _Oh god, oh my god, he’s gonna feel it, he’s gonna think I’m gay and he’s gonna feel my dick on his ass, oh jesus, what do I do, oh fuck!_ I bit my lip as he rocked forward again, lifting the sweater over me, my pulse loud in my ears. _  
_I decided to let him shove the sweater over my head. The sooner it was over, the sooner he’d get off and he didn’t have to realize a thing.  
  
At least I could tug the sweater down to hide my slight boner. Yay.  
  
When the two of us climbed into Armin’s SUV, Jaeger had the audacity to make fun of my stupid sweater. And I couldn’t blame him, because had our roles been reversed, I’d have given him hell over his hideous fashion sense. But as things were, _I_ was the one being teased, and I almost managed to give him a black eye for his troubles. When he learned that Marco had been the one to force me into that sweater, they exchanged a high five, and I scowled at them.  
  
Even Ymir mentioned it, the very second we walked through the door, in fact.  
“Woah, looks like the red light district’s open.”  
Everyone around me laughed, whereas I just stood there, taking it all with a poker face. Marco nudged me and actually told me that I needed to lighten up. Emphasis on _‘lighten’_. I smacked him on the shoulder.  
  
When we got there, we found it wasn’t loud like other parties; it was quiet, a low buzz of conversation filling the house. A massive and overly-decorated Christmas tree rested in one corner of the front room, and all throughout the house, boughs of holly and mistletoe were hung sporadically. Reiner and Bertholdt could be seen under the latter, beneath one particular bough in the hallway between the front room and the kitchen. The house was littered with Red solo cups here and there, some crushed and lying on the floor, some half empty on a counter or coffee table. In the kitchen, there was a hot chocolate maker running, and wreathes and ribbons were everywhere. The house was a painful flash of red and green, with rare tints of gold.  
“I never decorate,” Ymir told us, “But Christa loves Christmas, so we decorated it together.” She and her girlfriend spent a lot of time cuddled up on the couch next to the tree, Christa with a mug of hot chocolate wrapped up in her tiny hands, Ymir running her fingers through her soft, blonde hair. Even _I_ had to admit that the two were adorable, even if I thought they were an odd pair. Christa’s sincerity and sweet personality complimented Ymir’s callous sass well, in my personal opinion.  
  
Marco and I sat together on a vacant couch across the room from the girlfriends, and we were soon after nicknamed by Connie, “The Shitty Sweater Duo.” Mine was the shittiest, he pointed out.  
He and Sasha were sitting on the floor and attempting to build a gingerbread house together, on a flat pan covered in aluminum foil. But they couldn’t stop eating the candy and gingerbread long enough to actually make anything. Their fingers and mouths were stained with frosting, and they could be seen  feeding each other gingerbread and candy once or twice, Connie even opting to lick icing off of Sasha’s fingertip. It was sickeningly cute.  
“So, are you two like, a thing?” I’d asked them, and Sasha blushed profusely, Connie insisting they were only friends.  
I would have to drag more details out of him about it later.  
  
As it turned out, it really wasn’t anything more than what Ymir claimed it was—a “get together”. We all lounged about in her front room, some sipping hot chocolate as we conversed idly with one another. Armin and Annie were deep in conversation about some complex topic nobody else cared about while Eren and Mikasa had wandered into the kitchen for some hot chocolate, and Reiner and Bertholdt were still doin’ their thing in the hallway. I wasn’t too sure what their deal was, or why they were being clingier than usual, since I’d heard Bertholdt was spending the break at Reiner’s.  
Nothing out of the ordinary occurred until Marco got up to get his own mug of hot chocolate, and he politely asked if I wanted any as well, but I told him I was fine.  
  
It was while he was gone that Reiner and Bertholdt returned, striding across the room from behind the couch I was sitting on and joining Ymir and Christa on the other end of their sofa. “Good job,” I heard Reiner mutter to his boyfriend, who smiled bashfully in return. I did my best to ignore them, since the last time Reiner said that to Bertholdt, I’d heard it through the dorm walls.  
  
When Marco returned, the second he plopped down beside me with his fresh cup of hot chocolate, the entire room erupted into a strange chorus of childish “Oooooooooh”s, and Connie was waggling his eyebrows suggestively in my direction. What the actual fuck?  
  
“What!?” I snapped, glowering around at anyone who would meet my eyes.  
“Jean,” Marco said next to me, voice low, “Could you look up and make sure there isn’t any mistletoe over us?”  
“What? There wasn’t any up there when we walked in,” I said, craning my head back to inspect the ceiling, “so why would- oh my god.”  
Sure enough, dangling directly over Marco’s and I’s heads from a piece of tap, was a tiny bough of mistletoe, and my jaw dropped in horror. _I cannot fucking believe this._  
Several taunting woops of laughter rang around the room, the loudest coming from Eren who was leaning against a nearby chair, chilling on the floor, and I sneered at him. The entire room was quickly filled with snickers and  chuckles as everyone watched our reactions, when Sasha began to lead everyone in a constant chant of, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” They all clapped their hands in time with the chants, their eyes on us.  
  
It was then that I noticed Marco carefully placing his hot chocolate on the coffee table in front of us, and I noticed a slight tremor in his hand. Subconsciously, I backed away from him into the armrest behind me, as far away as I could get from him. I was not about to kiss my best friend.  
“H-hey, what are you doing?” I asked as he lifted his eyes to meet mine, blushing a light pink.  
He sighed, his blush darkening. “J-just, come here, Jean.” He then scooted closer over to me, and I let out an embarrassingly girlish squeal as his hand slid around to grab one side of my face, holding me in place. His hand was warm, and it felt nice.  
  
He leaned in, the chants growing louder.  
“M-Marco!?” He was getting closer, eyes slipping closed, and I watched him with wide eyes, my breath coming in short, quick pants now.  
“YEAH!” Someone jeered, and he planted a soft teasing kiss… on my cheek.  
“Oh, what the fuck!” Ymir yelled.  
  
Marco pulled away from me, and as soon as I was free, I covered my face with my hands. This was stupid. This was _so fucking stupid._ I’d sat on his lap before. I’d licked his cheek before. We’d slept in the same bed countless times, for fuck’s sake!  
But the second he kisses my cheek under the mistletoe, I become a blushing virgin!?  
  
I wasn’t embarrassed because I had hated it.  
And I wasn’t embarrassed because I had felt nothing.  
I was embarrassed because I had _liked_ it.  
And worst of all… I was embarrassed because I had felt crippling disappointment when he kissed my cheek instead of my mouth.  
 _N-no homo….?  
_  
With blood pounding through my veins and my pulse ringing loudly in my ears, I peeked through my fingers over at Marco, and his eyes met mine; he was covering his face with his hands too, and the sight was cute enough to kill. My face felt hotter than ever. I burrowed back into the safety of my hands, hiding from Marco as best I could.  
“S-sorry, Jean,” he crooned, “They wanted a kiss, so…”  
  
“We wanted a _real_ kiss!” Reiner yelled across the room, clearly dissatisfied with the entire situation.  
  
“It’s fine,” I assured Marco, but I still wouldn’t come out from behind my fingers. My heart was still beating like crazy, too. It was ridiculous and confusing and I didn’t know what was going on with myself that day, but I didn’t have any time to mull it over, because right then-  
  
“Hey now,” Ymir spoke up, and I turned to see her placing her cheek against the crown of Christa’s head and grinning lazily over at us, “If the two of you stay under that mistletoe for too long, you’re gonna have to make out.”  
 _I can’t fucking take this._  
  
Marco sat up straight, eyes wide and stunned, the most innocently adorable blush coloring his cheeks. And I hated to ruin how cute he looked right then, but I’m pretty sure making out with me was the last thing he wanted to do, so I did him a favor by digging my feet under his ass and prying him up off the couch, flinging him to his feet. I kicked his ass playfully for good measure, permitting myself a laugh as I tried to lighten up. _This is all just fun and games, Jean… stop freaking out. You’re not gay. He’s just your best friend who you’re really close with._  
“Owww, Jean!” Marco laughed, rubbing his ass from the kick I’d dealt him.  
I grinned at him, chuckling a bit. “Oh, shut up,” I joked, “It didn’t hurt that much, your ass is fine.”  
  
And then he paused, standing up straight and slowly turning around to face me directly. He was wearing a wicked grin. “Do you really think so?” he blushed.  
Whatever semblance of normalcy and cheeriness I’d managed to recover quickly crumbled away as I realized the implications of what he was saying.  
 _I just said his ass was fine. I mean, it really is, but-!!  
_ “I-I-I-I-I… that’s not what I… I-“  
The room was eerily quiet, and my pulse was frighteningly loud again, my stomach performing somersaults while I tried my hardest to breathe normally.  
  
Marco then started to tug his sweater down behind him, over his ass, and I turned to see that everyone had their eyes on the two of us.  
“Heeeeey, don’t cover the goods!” Ymir shouted.  
“Yeah!” Sasha chimed in. “You’ve gotta flaunt what you got!”  
Marco glared at them, then, blushing brighter than the light-up nose on my sweater.  
“Geez, Jean, just admit Marco’s got a nice ass! It’s not that hard,” Connie said, and I scowled at him, suddenly irritated. I didn’t need _him_ telling me how nice Marco’s ass was, I already knew that. Actually, hearing Connie talk about Marco’s ass got my blood boiling. “What about you, Armin?” he continued. “Want a piece of Marco’s ass?”  
We all turned to where Armin and Annie were still sitting, and Armin stammered out a, “O-oh, yeah. Most definitely. As many pieces as I can get.”  
And I was getting angrier.  
The next thing I knew, everyone in the whole goddamn fucking room was throwing compliments around about Marco’s ass. Marco’s ass this, Marco’s ass that, and where the _fuck_ did they all get off thinking they could talk about him like that!?  
Didn’t they see that they were making him uncomfortable!? He was blushing a beet red, still trying to cover his rear with his sweater, staring down at the floor, and I wanted nothing more than to stand up, wrap my arms around him, cover up his ass because it _wasn’t theirs to talk about like that, so fucking stop-_  
Well. I mean. It wasn’t mine either. I wasn’t gay. I didn’t like Marco like that. And he liked someone else.  
 _Someone who might possibly be in this very room and complimenting his ass._  
  
My hands curled into fists and before I could stop myself, I stood up and strode right the fuck out of there, slamming the front door behind me with as much force as I could muster.  
  
The cold winter air was welcome against my heated skin. I took a deep breath, the frosty air chilling my lungs, and I hastily stuffed my hands into my pants pockets. _Why am I so fucking upset?_ I was an enigma even to myself, it seemed. Was I angry at whoever Marco liked? Was that it? Who was the guy that Marco liked so much, huh!? Who could he possibly like more than _me!?  
_ ….Not that I cared. Marco could like whoever he wanted, because I didn’t care about him like that.  
  
 Staring out over Ymir’s front yard, I thought over everything that had happened. Marco liking someone. Marco liking a _guy_. The sweater. The mistletoe. His ass.  
  
It was just so stupid. Everything was confusing and it pissed me off.  
  
I hadn’t even been out there an entire minute when the front door creaked open behind me and Marco stepped out. I didn’t have to turn and look, I already knew. He stepped forward, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see him standing next to me, his breath emitting soft puffs of steam. He didn’t talk, not right away, at least. He just stood there, breathing next to me, and his warm and comforting personality practically rubbed off onto me; my fury ebbed away in record time, the hot flash of anger cooling until it was nothing more than dull irritation. But it was irritation nonetheless.  
  
We probably stood there for a good five minutes, my limbs wracked with shivers, when he finally said something.  
“..You ok?” he murmured.  
I shrugged, swallowed, and then nodded before frowning down at my snow-scuffed shoes, slush soaking the laces.  
  
“I know you’re pissed off about something,” Marco said, “but I can’t tell what.”  
I glanced over at him at that, but only for a second before I returned my gaze to my feet, thinking. “I’m not pissed,” I growled, more to myself than to him. “I don’t care. It doesn’t even bother me, because I don’t care.”  
  
“Jean,” he sighed, “Could you maybe try and be a little less cryptic? I don’t understand…”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” I said bitterly. “No one does really, you’re no different. But I told you all that, remember?”  
Marco stepped back beside me in pensive silence, and I regretted the words as soon as they came out. Man, I was a jackass. Marco hadn’t done anything wrong….  
When he gasped in understanding, my eyes slid closed. It was too late. The damage was done.  
  
“ _Jean!”_ He grabbed me by the shoulder roughly and spun me around so that I was facing him. “I _said_ I would find you, and I’m trying, I’m trying my dammedest to understand you, but you’re driving me crazy!”  
I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t look him in the eye, so I kept my eyes trained on the ground instead. But then he shouted, “Look at me!” and my eyes flew up in surprise.  
“You want to be understood, but I don’t think you do! This is a two-way thing, Jean, you’ve _got_ to meet me halfway, or I’ll never find you… so please, try to meet me halfway?” He was pleading with me, face flushed from the cold, his nose bright red, but I just couldn’t bring myself to look into his eyes. He was too honest, and I was… not.  
My mouth just gaped open like a fish’s, opening and shutting uselessly, but no words were coming out. I didn’t even know what I wanted to say, but I had to say _something_ , didn’t I?  
  
“Marco,” I said, voice hoarse, “I don’t… I don’t know what to say. I don’t even understand _myself_ right now, I just…”  
  
“What don’t you understand?” he said softly, frowning.  
  
I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to retain some amount of heat in my body as a particularly violent shiver ran through me. I looked away from Marco and glowered at the front door, to where everyone else was probably chatting idly right then, like nothing had even happened. “I’m angry,” I told him. “I’m so pissed off, but I don’t know why I’m so pissed, and it’s making me _more_ pissed that I can’t figure it out, and I’m _trying_ to understand, but-“  
I stopped right there. What was I even trying to say? I sounded like an idiot.  
  
Marco sighed, steam curling up and away from his mouth. “Okay. Fair enough. So you haven’t got the slightest clue as to what’s making you mad? What even set you off, back there? If it was the mistletoe incident, then I’m sor-“  
“It wasn’t the mistletoe,” I interrupted. “Could you just tell me one thing, though?”  
“Huh? Yeah, of course, what is it?”  
“Who’s the guy you like?”  
  
Marco stiffened, visibly tensing up as his eyes widened. “What…? What’s that got to do with anything?”  
  
 _It has to do with absolutely everything, Marco, please.  
_ “Please just tell me.”  
 _This is torture. Tell me who I should be mad at.  
_  
He shook his head, taking a deep breath and swallowing loudly. “N-no. No, I won’t! Jean, I told you, I’m not ready to talk about it!”  
  
I scowled at him then, annoyed. This was about so much more than just being nervous about a stupid crush, why couldn’t Marco see that!? I just wanted to understand myself, to have something to direct my anger towards and take it out on. To know why I was so angry in the first place. And if he didn’t want to help me figure things out, then fine, he could go and be selfish all he wanted. I broke my gaze away, staring back out across the street.  
“Will you please just respect my decisions, Jean?” he said. “ I’ll tell you eventually, okay? But for now, stop worrying about it. And I still don’t understand what that has to do with why you’re so ticked off. If anything, I’m just more confused.”  
  
“Tch.”  
  
Marco seemed a little taken aback by that, tensing up and going silent, but then he tried again, as resilient and patient as ever. “Hey,” he said, “Look. We leave tomorrow. We’re not going to see each other for a month. You’ve got to head back to Maria after this to pack, and then we say goodbye tomorrow, and I won’t see you until next semester. So, can we please just go back inside and enjoy the time we’ve got left?”  
I refused to say anything, biting my lip stubbornly.  
“Y’know… I’m really gonna miss you. Please? Just come back inside?”  
  
I turned back around to face away from the door before saying, “Why don’t you just go inside yourself.”  
  
At least I couldn’t see his face. I had a feeling that if I could, I’d want to slit my own throat then and there. _I’m sorry, Marco. Just leave me to figure this out alone._  
And he did. He turned on his heel and went back inside without another word, leaving me out in the cold by myself.  
I don’t think I’d ever felt more alone. And that was saying something.  
  
I wasn’t alone for very long, however. I was permitted around five minutes to wallow in my self-loathing before the door creaked open again, and my eyes slid closed, brows pinching together darkly.  
  
“Go back inside, Marco, I’m fi-“  
“Not Marco,” came a sing-song voice, and I froze, Armin coming up to stand beside me.  
  
“Oh…… hi.”  
  
“Hello.”  
  
He paused for several long moments, pulling his jacket tightly around him. But then he said, “He thinks you hate him.”

My stomach dropped.

“What!? No! No, I… I don’t.”  
“Then why are you acting like you do?”  
“No! No, I’m not! I mean, I’m not trying to, I just….”  
“…..”  
“I’m just pissed off.”  
“Know why?” Armin asked, kicking at the snow at his feet absentmindedly.  
“….Not really.”  
“Hmmmm, really? I think you do.”  
  
I spun on him, facing him directly. “Oh, really? Then please explain, because you just seem to know everything that’s going on, don’t you!?”  
  
Armin didn’t bat a lid. He just stood there and sighed, frowning a bit. “Jean.”  
I grimaced. “Sorry…”  
He stared at me for a long, hard second, thick brows furrowed, until, “It’s okay to be jealous.”  
I flared right the fuck back up at that, heat rushing to my face. “I’m not _jealous!”_

  
“ _I’d_ be a little jealous, if _I_ were you.”  
  
He seemed sincere enough, his blue eyes bright and honest. And although I was still bristling, I took the bait.  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah. He’s your best friend, after all. Am I right?”  
I gave him a sharp nod, because hell yeah he was right. I was his best friend in the whole damn world.  
  
“If things work out with Marco and this other guy he likes, he might spend more time with them than with you.”  
My hands curled into fists.  
“They’ll go on dates. Hold hands.”  
I scowled, sneering a bit.  
“He’ll probably choose to spend the nights with his boyfriend instead of you-“  
“What’s your _fucking_ point, Armin?” My voice wasn’t shaking, I swore to god it wasn’t.  
“What I’m saying is Marco wouldn’t just abandon you.”  
I pulled my arms up over my chest as I scowled over at him, gritting my teeth.  
“He’s still your best friend even if he’s got a boyfriend,” Armin went on, taking a moment to sniffle and rub his nose. “He’d make time for you. Maybe not _all_ of his time, but a good amount of it.”  
“But that’s not good enough!” I snapped back. “Who the hell even is this other guy? Why does he get more time with Marco, I mean, I was here _first!_ It’s not fair, and whoever the fuck he is, he can get in line. Behind _me_.”  
And then Armin was smiling, bright and wide, his eyebrows raised beneath his bangs.  
“I…. I mean-“ but it was too late to backtrack.  
“You know,” Armin said, “It’s one thing to be jealous of who spends more time with Marco. That’s a normal feeling between friends, especially best friends. But if you find that you’re jealous for _other_ reasons, and you don’t want him to go out with _anybody else_ ….you should probably reevaluate your feelings for him.”  
  
I had no response for that. My blood ran as cold as the snow beneath my feet, and I swallowed thickly, feeling my stomach churn. I felt a little sick… and nervous.  
  
“Since you don’t want Marco going out with anybody, would _you_ rather be his boyfriend instead?”  
  
“N-no,” I said weakly, glaring down at the ground. My face was hot and I was nervous and… a little scared. “No way, I don’t like him like that.” The words were barely choked out when my mind replayed the mistletoe incident, recalling Marco’s hand on my face and his lips on my cheek. And my disappointment. “He’s just my best friend,” I whispered.  
  
“Mmm-hmmm,” Armin hummed, “Well, your best friend thinks you hate him right now, so you should probably head back inside and let him know that’s not the case.”  
  
Shoving my fists back into my pockets, I turned, my shoulder brushing Armin’s as I headed for the door. But standing on the threshold, I stopped, my stomach still flipping and my head still reeling. “Thanks, Armin.” And I opened the door, trudging inside while he followed close behind.  
  
I plopped down beside Marco without looking directly at him, sulking on the couch. I didn’t dare look him in the eye. I just couldn’t. I’d only just managed to come to terms with the fact that I was _jealous_ of all things, but now it was left up to me to determine why. Why was I jealous over the guy sitting next to me?  
I crossed my arms over my chest and threw my legs wide, sinking deep into the couch, but also hyperaware of the warm body beside me. A warm body who supposedly thought I hated him.  
A sharp ache throbbed in the left side of my chest.  
  
I took a deep breath before throwing a small glance over at Marco, my smile small and pathetic, I knew, but it was just the best I could do at the moment.  
And then he was sighing and rolling his eyes at me. “Don’t force yourself to smile,” he said softly. “It looks awful.”  
  
I had to smile at that. I don’t know why, but Marco just never failed to make me smile when I needed to, and he smiled back. And for the moment, things were fine.  
  
We spent the rest of the Christmas party on that couch. No more mistletoe, and no more talking about Marco’s ass, and no more talking about who he liked. I pushed those subjects to the back  of mind, things on my “think about later” list, because how the fuck was I supposed to consider the possibility of _maybe_ liking my best friend as more than a best friend, when he was sitting right the fuck beside me!? I couldn’t. And I wasn’t sure if I could do it alone, either.  
  
Which was why all that night, I busied myself with packing, not sparing a second for thought or self-reflection. Because I was straight and could never like Marco in that way, and it was all just a big misunderstanding, really.  
The second I got done packing, I threw myself into bed and fell asleep immediately. Thinking about things was for losers.  
  
Unfortunately, there are some things that you _can’t_ run from, even in sleep.

* * *

  
  
 _“Mmm. Jea-ah!”  
I wasn’t sure when Marco had climbed into my bed, but hey, I wasn’t complaining. Not when I had him trapped beneath me, my waist slotted between his wide-open thighs as I ground down into him again. He choked out a moan at that, breathing heavily against me, and when he looked at me like that, his face all red and eyes heavily lidded, I couldn’t resist; I crushed my lips against his, licking my way into his open mouth.  
He was so cute, he was _ so damn cute. _I swallowed his keen as I pressed myself down more, his cock hard against mine through the fabric of our underwear and I grunted at the friction, my hands on his wrists tightening where they pinned him to the bed.  
There was something thrilling about making Marco moan, something absolutely fucking beautiful about making someone so seemingly innocent so goddamn hard. I ducked in to lick and kiss at his throat, reveling in the way he moaned my name through his heavy panting, his hips thrusting up to meet mine and drawing an airy whine out of me. “Marco,” I sighed his name against the side of his neck, biting at the skin ever so lightly and nibbling.  
Everything was fast forwarding, and then I was running my hands over his face and neck, admiring his freckles, staring into his deep brown eyes, dragging my fingers through his dark hair. He opened his mouth. ”I love you, Jean.”  
It fast forwarded again, but to a much less innocent scene, and this time Marco was hanging over me, his lips dragging along my collarbones when I felt his hand dip beneath the waistband of my shorts. “Marco!” I felt myself twitch as his fingertips slid down my hardened length, and then he gripped me, sliding his palm against me, and I was shaking and moaning his name-  
  
_ My eyes snapped open. _  
_Marco wasn’t in my bed. I was aware of an uncomfortable wetness spreading over my crotch, the last few sensations from my dream slowly fading away.  
 _I… I just… what!?  
_ It was a wet dream, okay, but about Marco!? My best friend!? I didn’t understand, I didn’t _want_ to understand, and I was trying my hardest not to re-imagine what Marco’s hand down my pants would feel like.  
I was alone, and it was dark save for the scarlet glow of the alarm clock. Well, _almost_ alone—I turned to make sure Connie was still asleep, his headphones blaring, same as usual. Except when I looked across the room towards his bed, the light of the clock was reflected off the moisture of his wide-open eyes.  
  
 _Oh my god._  
“Say a _fucking_ word-“  
“I won’t, oh god, I won’t,” he interrupted, turning away from me. “I would _kill_ to forget what I just heard, oh god.”  
  
Seething and mortified and freaking out all at once, my blood racing through my veins, I flipped out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me before turning the shower on.  
“Oh my god,” I whimpered, peeling my wet boxers off. “You’ve got to be kidding…”  
  
In that exact moment, three important pieces of information clicked into place.  
  
1\. I, Jean Kirschtein, might not be as straight as I initially thought myself to be.  
2\. I, Jean Kirschtein, liked my best fucking friend. _  
_3\. I liked my best fucking friend who liked someone else entirely.  
  
 _I can’t be gay for Marco Bodt… Seriously!? Is this actually a thing that’s happening to me!?_  
 “Aww, _man_!” I cried out, slumping against the bathroom door and kicking at my soiled underwear in defeat.    
  
Through the door, I heard a distant _‘beep-beep-beep’_ , and I briefly wondered what sort of sick sex game Reiner and Bertholdt were up to that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "WHY DO YOU ALWAYS STAY UP ALL NIGHT ON THAT COMPUTER!?"  
> "YOU SHOULD STOP AND COME SPEND TIME WITH YOUR FAMILY"  
> "WHY DONT YOU WRITE MORE, YOU'RE GOOD AT WRITING."  
> O-e
> 
> god fucking damn it, sorry for another delay. It is my supreme goal to get another update in by Christmas, yaaaaaaaaay. Plus my Secret Santa gift, which will also be a jeanmarco fic, so be on the lookout for that. c:
> 
> Also, I'll be looking through this for missing letters and grammatical errors for the next day or so, since this keyboard is particularly shitty.  
> Thanks for all the kind words and support, everyone! Let's gather around our bloodstones and pray that Lownly writes faster the next couple of days! :'D


	7. I Missed You Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean is still a fucking sap, but like, in this one there's masturbation and xbox live and parents.  
> dont get yer hopes up for parents masturbating over xbox live, tho, i aint about all that.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [Click here for Marco's POV!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/991568/chapters/2918863)

_I don't care what people say_  
 _The rush is worth the price I pay_  
 _I get so high when you're with me_  
 _But crash and crave you when you leave_  
  
\--Ke$ha ( _Your Love is My Drug)_  
  
  


* * *

December 13th through January 10th. Twenty-eight days. Almost a full month.  
And I couldn’t tell if I wanted to be away from Marco for that long or not.  
  
I’m supposed to say I was going to miss him like hell, and I was, I really _really_ was. But, er, _recent developments_ had made me pretty fucking wary of his presence.  
I wasn’t scared of the guy! Not really… he’s my best friend, I fucking love him. It was figuring out the extent of how _much_ I loved him that scared me. And it turned out that I loved him a hella fucking lot.

After my little dream of hanky-panky with Marco, I stayed in the shower nearly all night, struggling to come to terms with this new information about myself. I… liked a guy. I liked _Marco,_ my _best friend._ In all my years of living, I’d never once given thought to the possibility of ever ever ever falling for a guy; I was supposed to succeed my parents, get _married,_ raise a kid to take after me… But my parents had never included another guy in the equation, it was always a girl, a woman. That was why they always tried so hard to hook me up with any of the girls at their company-wide house parties. But never had they ever even _mentioned_ the offhand possibility that their son might bring home a guy instead… so I guessed it was completely out of the question. Like, I didn’t mind, because I’d always just assumed I was 100% Hella Straight, but now…?

What was I? Straight? Gay? A mix in between? Marco was the first and only guy I’d ever liked, it wasn’t like I was suddenly attracted to dudes now… But I’d still have to show up home the following morning and greet my parents, knowing full well the person I liked was not a girl at _all._ And even more than that, I was going to have to look Marco in the eye before he left, and try not to remember the faces I’d dreamed of him making, or the soft noises I’d imagined hearing… his whimpers and gasps and… fuck.

My warm shower may or may not have shifted into an ice cold one at some point in the night.

I remember very little about that morning… I went through the motions of drying off, getting dressed, and loading up my car in a daze… I couldn’t really focus on anything; my thoughts were reeling, stomach knotting and unknotting itself over and over and over again while my head pounded and my eyes burned. Shuffling around our room in Maria, I’m sure I bumped into Connie on more than one occasion.

“Are you alright, man?” He spun me by the shoulder so that I was facing him. “You look fuckin’ awful.”

“Yeah, ‘m fine.”

I couldn’t even meet his eyes.

The walk over to Sina’s parking lot wasn’t an easy one; my hands were shaking uncontrollably, and although I blamed it on the cold, I knew the real reason. The truth was, I wasn’t sure how to act around Marco right then. _Act Natural,_ I thought, but what the hell was _natural?_ Sharing beds and holding hands and staying up all night whispering secrets in the dark like we’ve always been doing? Would I even be able to _do_ those things without overreacting anymore!? How would I be able to keep this a secret? It was a well-known fact that I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. Secrets were not my forte. I was painfully blunt, and knowing me, if I hung around Marco too much, the truth was bound to come out. And then our friendship would be fucked over for good.

I arrived to find Marco with his back turned, bent down as he tried to situate his bags in the backseat of his car, his shirt and jacket riding up a tiny bit, back curved. A strange twisting pain clawed at my chest.

Swallowing my fear so that it knotted up in my lungs instead, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat so that he wouldn’t see their tremors.

I watched from behind as he stood up and straightened himself out, taking out his phone and tapping away at the screen without even turning around. I wasn’t about to call out to him, hell fucking no. I was dreading the moment he’d turn around and I’d have to look into those big, brown, innocent eyes, knowing that my dreams about him had been anything but. I was ashamed.

When he finally turned around, he jumped a bit, apparently startled. But then he smiled a little sheepishly, pocketing his phone.

“H-hey,” he said.  
  
“Hey,” I said back. I looked down at my feet instead of up at him, kicking around at the snow with one foot.

The sound of crunching snow alerted me of his approach, and I snapped my eyes back up to see him take a few steps closer. He wasn’t smiling anymore. His eyebrows were pulled up in concern, freckled cheeks flushed from the chilly wind that rustled his dark hair, and his lips were parted on a frown. “Jean…?”

I stumbled back, breath catching in my throat as my heart thrummed wildly in my chest. Too close. He was too close, and I couldn’t let him see how much he was affecting me. I clenched my fists in my pockets in a desperate attempt to still their shaking and looked away. I looked at my feet. I looked across the street. I looked across the half-empty parking lot that was lined with dirt-blackened snow. Anywhere but at him.

Marco’s voice was soft, the words formed carefully in his mouth as though they were fragile, as if he were afraid of saying them. “Another nightmare?”  
  
WELL. I mean. I wouldn’t call it a _nightmare,_ really, I was sure as hell having a grand ‘ol time in it, but… it _was_ still a dream…. So was it _technically_ lying if I told him yes? Probably.

I shrugged and nodded, averting my gaze to his left ear instead of his eyes. I didn’t trust my voice to do the lying for me, and I didn’t trust myself to look him in the eye while doing so.

“You alright?” he asked.

I nodded again, not taking my eyes off his ear. He knew something was up, how could he not, Marco knew me better than anyone else. If he kept poking and prodding and asking questions, I was fucking doomed. I had to cut this awkward little exchange short. So I cleared my throat, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of my neck and said, “I just… wanted to say goodbye. Before, you know… before you leave.”

His reply was warm, if a little hollow. “Yeah,” he said. “A whole month, huh? Excited?”

I grimaced. “Not at all.”

“Yeah… I’ll miss ya, Jean.”

Something in my stomach fluttered uncomfortably at that, and this time I looked him dead in the eye. Dark strands of wind-blown hair hung over his brow, button nose a bright red and chocolate eyes bright, and my face grew hot at the adorable sight. I was blushing like a schoolgirl, this was ridiculous. The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. “I’ll miss you too, Marco.”

_I’ll miss you so much._

For a few moments, nothing was said. The silence was thick and awkward and nerve-wracking, especially since I had nothing to do but try and breathe normally. He couldn’t see me shaking, could he? Did he think I was acting too weird? _Be cool, Jean, be cool…_  
 _…..I’m a fucking mess._

For a brief second, my eyes caught on the sight of Marco licking his lips before his tongue disappeared into his mouth again, the flush on his cheeks darkening. But it was too late—my eyes were stuck there, on Marco’s slightly chapped lips, a glimmer of leftover saliva clinging to the bottom one, and a small shiver swept through me at the realization that _I would not mind at all if he kissed me right now…_

Marco took a step back. “Well,” he said, throwing a hand over his shoulder and gesturing to his car, “I’ve gotta get going.” He threw me a soft smile and a half-shrug. “It’s a few hours’ drive to Jinae, and my mom’s kinda waiting.” And then he was walking away, my eyes glued to his broad back.

The last of Marco I’d see for a good month, and I was totally fucking it up by being awkward and weird and _really fucking obvious._ As he retreated, an unexpected surge of greed and longing crashed over me, and yes I was scared, yes I was nervous, but the only thought in my head right then was _“I don’t want you to go yet.”_

“Marco, wait!”

_Fuck._

I swear to god my body acted on its own, taking two steps forward and throwing my hand out as though to grab him and pull him back.

Marco turned to see me stuck like that, hand outstretched and frozen in midair, and if he couldn’t see the fear of god in my eyes at that moment then I don’t know what the fuck he saw, because that was all I was feeling.

He furrowed his brows, the corners of his mouth pulling down into a confused frown. “Uh… yes? What is it?”

I yanked my hand back to my side, standing straight up and loudly clearing my throat. _Stupid, stupid, stupid… what the fuck are you doing._

“I just… I dunno. Be safe, alright man?” Swallowing thickly, I folded my arms tightly over my chest and stared pointedly at the ground, praying to whatever god was out there that he couldn’t see the telltale blush that was surely creeping over my cheeks, the tips of my ears burning hot in the chilly winter wind.

“Yeah, I’ll be careful. I’ll text you when I’m safely home. Bye, Jean.”

My limbs grew heavy, the air in my lungs too thick to breathe and a lump forming in my throat. “…Bye.”

I remember watching him drive away, not once taking my eyes off his car until it disappeared around the corner, and he was… gone. A whole month. I hadn’t even given him a proper fucking goodbye because I’d been so goddamn scared of fucking things up, and let’s face it: I’d almost fucked everything up just by _standing_ there. We were supposed to hug and smile and pat each other on the back and laugh, saying things like “Oh, we’ll be back before we know it,” and “Kick your ass at Mario Kart soon!” and “See you next year, haha.” But I couldn’t even do _that._

I had a crippling man-crush that rendered me completely incapable of proper socialization with my best friend. He didn’t deserve that. He was probably wondering what the fuck my problem was as he drove away. He was probably _glad_ to get away from me, because wow, I’m a fucking _asshole._

My eyes stung in the bitter wind, my vision wavering and blurring.

Jean Kirschtein sucks ass at keeping secrets, I decided. So I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t _need_ to keep any secrets if I just… avoided Marco completely. Running away is a lot easier than facing your problems head on, after all.

I hastily scraped the excessive moisture from my eyes with the rough sleeve of my coat.

_I really hate myself._

* * *

“Alright, bathroom break, then we’ll go for another round!” Connie said.  
  
“Oh thank god,” Reiner’s voice came in through the headset.

It was the first Monday afternoon of the break, and I’d been screwing around on Xbox Live with Connie and Reiner and Eren.  I was sitting on the big, cushy red couch in my room, bright sunlight pouring in through my window as I fiddled around with my controller. We’d been playing Call of Duty, of all things…

_“If you bring Call of Duty tomorrow, I’ll love you forever.”_

I sighed heavily, trying to ignore the hollow dread settling in the pit of my stomach. Why did I have to think of stupid things at the worst times possible?

“Hey… Jean.”  
  
It was Eren. His voice was abnormally soft and quiet… which meant that he _knew_ he was about to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. I smirked.

“What is it, Eren?”

“Can I ask you what the heck happened at Ymir’s Christmas party?”  
  
I gnawed a bit on my bottom lip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh come on, don’t play like that! You know what I’m talking about… you were like, a total jackass at the party… What was up with that?”  
  
“Dude, no I wasn’t-!”  
  
“Yeah, you kinda were. You really upset Marco…”  
  
I snorted, reclining a bit on my couch. “Why do _you_ care?”

“Because he’s _my_ friend too, dumbass. Did you even apologize to him?”

“Kind of…”

“You didn’t, did you?”

“So what?” I growled. “It’s all fine now. He didn’t seem upset about it when I talked to him last, so everything’s okay.”

“Oh,” Eren huffed into his mic. “When _did_ you talk to him last?”

“Why do you wanna know!?”

“It’s just a question, oh my fucking god!”

“Friday!”

A brief moment of silence on Eren’s end. A subtle huff, probably him blowing hot air through his nose like he always does when he’s momentarily confused. And then, “Wait, I thought you guys talked, like, all the time…”

“We do!” I said defensively, tensing up, but then I relaxed again.  “Uh… I’ve actually. Kind of. Been ignoring him…”

“What the fuck? Why!?”

I let out a hollow whine and threw my controller down onto my lap, folding my arms and hunching in on myself. “I don’t wanna talk about it, Eren.”

“Why aren’t you talking to him!? It’s not that difficult!”

“You don’t know that!”

“What’s wrong with you!? Whatever you two argued about, it couldn’t have been that big of a deal to start ignoring him over! Oh, man, poor Marco…”

“Shut up!” I spat. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! You wouldn’t understand, so just shut the fuck up and mind your own business.”

“Hold up, what are we talking about now?” That was Connie, back from his bathroom break just in fucking time.

“We’re _talking_ about why Jean thinks it’s okay to start ignoring his best friend just because of a stupid fight. If I were in his position, Mikasa would’ve kicked my ass by now… Oh, h-hey Mikasa-“

“She’s in the room with you, isn’t she?” I deadpanned.

“Wait wait wait wait, go back a bit. Jean’s _ignoring_ Marco!?”

“Yeah, man! And he won’t tell me why!”

“Poor guy’s probably miserable right now, maybe we should check up on him…”

“Oh come on!” I groaned. “All I’ve done is just _not replied_ to a few of his text messages, it’s nothing for him to get upset over. He’s fine.”

At that exact moment in time, as luck would fucking have it, my phone, resting on the couch cushion next to me, erupted into the chorus of _The Fox,_ the singer’s frenzied shouts and yelps spilling from the thing and filling the room with its awful fucking cacophony. And there on the lit-up touch screen was the selfie Marco had taken, smiling cheekily at the camera as I dozed and drooled on his shoulder.  
 _Marco.  
_ The realization that he was out there, right at that second, trying to call me, _thinking_ about me while I’d been _ignoring_ him, was like a fucking _knife_ in my chest. Except instead of one of those sissy daggers, it was more like a carving knife... Twisted around in there a few times for good measure, too. I winced.

  
“Really?” Connie commented. “The _Fox?_ You really are a huge fucking meme.”  
“Says the guy who makes actual memes out of pictures of his friends and posts them on Facebook,” I grumbled sourly.

“Will you just answer the fucking phone!?” Eren shouted. “It’s Marco, isn’t it?”  
“Why would you think that!?” I snarled, struggling to be heard over my screeching phone.  
  
“Nobody loves _The Fox_ more than Marco. Nobody.”  
  
He was right. It was an undeniable, universal truth. Arguing about that would yield no victory for me.  
  
“Answer it, Jean.”

 _Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK._  
I didn’t want to answer it. I was _afraid_ to. I stared at the phone with wide eyes, thinking of every way I could get out of this, every way I could get away with not answering that damn phone. I swear to fuck  I practically broke a sweat in those few seconds that I sat there staring at it, those few seconds that felt like _hours._ And then I snapped.

It was fight or flight, and in one last frantic attempt at escape, I plucked my phone up and chucked that son of a bitch across the room. There was a brief moment where that shitty song could be heard sailing away through the air before a loud crash rang out, and the small device collided with glass, shattering the lamp on my nightstand.  
I winced as phone and lamp-remains clattered to the floor, glass flying every which way, and the cellular device vibrated and screamed for two more seconds before going straight to voicemail.  
There was a long, awkward string of silence as the other two slowly began to realize what had just occurred on my end of the conversation. And then-  
  
“Did you just throw your phone across the room!?” Connie yelled.  
  
“I’m sorry! I just can’t do it!” I whined, burying my face in my hands. “It’s too awkward and I’ll fuck everything up.”  
“Awkward?” Eren asked.  
“Ohhh my god, I see,” Connie said, snickering to himself. “Yeah, I get how that’d be kinda awkward for you, haha.”  
“I feel like I’m missing something, here,” Eren grumbled.  
“Yeah, you are. Can I tell him, Jean?”  
  
“Wha- _NO!”_ I shouted. “I don’t want _Eren_ knowing about that! Hell, I doubt even _he_ wants to know!”

“Dude, _come on._ It’s not even that big of a deal,” Connie reasoned. “Please?”

I don’t know what came over me. Maybe I was getting tired of all this bullshit already. Maybe I was seriously feeling so shitty that I figured telling Eren about my dirty dream of Marco couldn’t make things any worse. But I let out a long, drawn-out groan, threw my head back with a sigh, and said, “Yeah, whatever, just get it over with.”  
And of course, you can always leave it to Connie fucking Springer to say these kinds of things as eloquently as possible.

“Jean had a motherfucking wet dream about Marco.”

“What!? No way…”

“He did!” Connie insisted. “The night after Ymir’s Christmas party, he was moaning his name and shit in his sleep!” I groaned again, feeling my face burn in embarrassment, and my groan turned up into a hollow whine.

“He sounded just like that.”

“CONNIE!”

“Yeah,” Reiner’s deep, baritone voice broke in, back from his bathroom break apparently, “we heard.” Faintly in the background, I could hear Bertholdt next to him say, “Are you talking about Jean?”

“Wait a second,” Eren said. “So, you… like Marco?”

“I…. I don’t know,” I grumbled, scowling. I was lying. _Badly_ , but it was still a lie. I knew I’d fucking fallen for Marco, but I just wasn’t ready to admit it right then. Of course, the guys caught onto my shit immediately.  
  
“What do you mean, ‘ _you don’t know’_!?” Eren snapped.

“You creamed yourself while dreaming of the guy,” Reiner said, “And you still don’t know if you like him or not…”

“I… I didn’t _cream_ myself!” I denied.

“Man, you left your nasty ass underwear on the bathroom floor that morning. Bertl had to put them in your hamper with the end of our broom, he was sweating like crazy.”  
“You could have helped,” Bertholdt said softly, muffled in the background.  
Reiner cleared his throat, “I was there for, uh… moral support.”

I clapped a hand over my eyes in mortification, a sharp _smack_ ing noise ringing out. “Oh my god,” I whimpered, “I’m so fucking sorry… holy shit.”  
“That’s sick,” Eren commented.  
  
“Guys, focus,” Connie interrupted. “Jean,” he directed the attention back to me again, “do you like Marco or not? Be honest…”

“I…” Well, _fuck._ The spotlight was on me… to admit something I’d _just barely accepted myself._ That I liked Marco as more than just a friend, and as a friend at the same time. That I wanted to do… _boyfriend_ things, I guess. If that meant I got to hold his hand. And maybe, I dunno, hug him a lot. And uh, k-kiss him a _lot_ lot… My stomach did a somersault at the thought, and I wish I could say that it didn’t make me grin like a fucking _idiot,_ but then I’d be lying again. Thank god none of the guys could see me right then.  
  
But Marco liked someone else. And the instant rush of anger, and sadness, and hurt and _jealousy_ that came with that knowledge was enough of a testament to my feelings.

 _Welp. Jean Kirschtein, you’re hella gay for Marco Bodt.  
_  
“Yeah. I uh…,” my voice cracked, and I cleared my throat and swallowed, “I do. I like him a lot.”

There was what I guess would be called a ‘murmur of assent’ from the guys, hums and mumbles and sighs of relief and, in Reiner’s case, a quiet “Fuck yeah”. I was kinda shocked, actually; I’d expected laughter, maybe, or terrible jokes at my expense, or…. I dunno. Something that would make me feel like shit. But not the calm acceptance I received.  
My shoulders melted back down into a more relaxed position, and I let out a whoosh of air that I must have been holding in. I felt… better, somehow.  
  
“O-okay,” I said, rubbing my sweaty palms on my jeans. “But, uh, I’m not gay, alright?” I scowled and squared my shoulders defensively. “I’m strictly Marco-sexual.”

“Oh my FUCKING god,” Eren complained.

“You’ve gotta be joking,” Connie said.

“I’m not! I’m not joking! I’m serious! I… I’m not attracted to any other dudes.” I gritted my teeth. “Just Marco.”

“Yeah,” began Connie, “But of all the possible sexual orientations out there, you choose _Marco-sexual?”_

“Okay, yeah, because that’s the only thing I could be right now!” I told them. “I… I’m not gay. And since I like Marco, I’m not straight either, I guess. So I thought, hey, maybe I’m bi! But I only like one person who just happens to be a guy! So what am I, straight-plus-Marco!?”

“Straight-plus-Marco sounds like a really queer-as-hell sitcom starring you, Jean,” Reiner interrupted.

“I’m not done!” I said, choosing to ignore that. “So then that got me thinking, well, as of right now, I’m not into any girls. I mean, we all know I had a thing with Mikasa in high school-“

“Yeah,” Eren piped up, “What happened with that? She never told me what actually happened-“

“Shut up, Eren. Anyway, I decided that, although I still find girls attractive, I like Marco more than all the girls in the world combined. Like, into some giant, mega-girl all-lord I guess. S-so, I just thought I’d go with…. Marco-sexual.”

“So let me get this straight,” said Connie. “Or, uh, I guess _not_ straight. You went through gay, straight, and bi, as your only possible sexual orientations, and went with Marco-sexual?”

“Uh…. Yes?”

“There’s more than just gay, straight and bi, dumbass,” Reiner said.

“……..Oh.”

“Yeah, buddy, you really need some help with this,” he went on. “There’s like, demisexual, asexual, pansexual, a whole spectrum of gray-sexual-“

“Not to mention all the different combinations of sexual orientations and romantic orientations,” Connie cut in.

“Wait, what? What the fuck are you guys talking about, you really need to slow down!”

“Okay, well to clarify, uh, you know what _sexual_ orientations are? Like, when you’re sexually attracted to certain kinds of people?” Connie asked.

“Yeah?”

“Okay. So, don’t like, freak out or anything, but there’s also a set of _romantic_ orientations as well. But instead of sexual attraction, it’s… _romantic_ attraction.”

“Ohhh my god, okay, no, can… can we please not? Can we please keep this as simple as possible!?” I begged. I was actually starting to panic a little bit; I thought I had this shit figured out, and then Reiner and Connie had to go and throw all this confusing shit on me all at once. I didn’t even know what any of those other –sexual words _meant,_ and I didn’t even want to _think_ about that second set of orientations Connie was talking about. At least, not all at the same time. They were just—they were going too fast.

It’s not like failing to understand myself wasn’t scary enough already.

“Yeah…. Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to freak you out,” Connie said. “We were just trying to help.”  
  
“It’s fine,” I sighed, slumping back down into the couch cushions. “Just… if there’s so many things you can be… then what are you guys?”

“Are you asking us about our sexual orientations?” Eren asked.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I’m hella gay!” Reiner shouted. “Homosexual, through and through.”

“Bert too?”

“Ah, nah. Bert’s pan.”

“ _Huh?”_

“Uh- pansexual.”

“…….”

Bertholdt spoke up softly in the background, his heavy voice carrying easily to Reiner’s mic. “ _Tell him he better not make a dumbass joke about me fucking pans.”_

“Bert says you better not-“

“I heard him,” I interrupted. “I wasn’t going to. Just what the fuck is pansexual?”

“It’s when you can be sexually attracted to anyone, regardless of gender.” I could practically _hear_ the smirk in Jaeger’s voice. “Everyone knows that.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jaeger, no everyone doesn’t. Don’t even act all high and mighty, because the only reason _you_ know that is because of Armin!”

“So what!?”

“Alright, alright, shut up!” Connie cut in. “Both of you are blowin’ my eardrums out.”

I cleared my throat. “So… Connie, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“What’s your sexual… uh, orientation?”

There was a bit of a significant pause, as though he were hesitating, and for a second I didn’t think that the guy would answer. But then, “….. I’m ace.”

“Whaaaaaaat?” Reiner said. “I can’t say I was expecting _that_ one.”

“Wait, what the fuck is ace!?”

“Asexual, dude!”  
  
Literally the only thing that came to mind at the mention of “asexual” was high school biology. So _clearly_ my definition of that word wasn’t matching up with his. “Uh,” I said, as witty as fucking ever.  
  
“It means I’m not sexually attracted to anyone. I’ve got no interest in sex. If you were about to joke about cells or some shit, you’ll be sleeping in the bathroom all next semester.”

“I wasn’t going to do that!!” I sighed, exhaling a shit ton of exasperation and frustration in the process. “Why the fuck do you guys keep expecting me to crack these awful, tasteless jokes!?!?”

“Oh geez, _I dunno,_ why _ever_ would we think that?” Connie’s voice was coated thick in sarcasm, and I squinted.

“Just what are you talking abou-“

“ _No homo, hurr,”_ Eren interrupted in the _most_ irritating tone I’ve _ever_ fucking heard.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP,” I yelled, “That’s not funny!”

“Yeah, it never was, _Jean,”_ said Connie.

“I never said that to be _funny!!_ I don’t even say it that often, I just- _FUCKING-_ “ I broke off into a string of garbled swears and growls, snarling in frustration while my hands curled into fists on my lap.

“Uh… you okay, buddy?” Reiner wondered.

I pressed my lips into a thin line and, with my eyes scrunched shut, I smacked the heel of my hand to my forehead, pressing it there while I waited for my thoughts to clear. I was angry and upset and _really_ fucking pissed off… but not at them.  
 _I’m fucking stupid._

“….I just. I never thought I’d… like a guy,” I mumbled.

“Shit happens, bro,” Eren said.

Connie chimed in with, “Man, everyone’s gay once in a while.”

“How dare you quote Tropic Thunder right now,” Eren said.

“Sorry….”

“Hey, Jean,” Reiner said, “It’s okay to admit you like Marco. He’s a really great guy, I’d have been surprised if you _didn’t_ like him.”  
  
There was a long pause where nobody said anything. It was just me and my thoughts and the background Call of Duty music as it waited for us to start up another round on Zombie mode over Xbox Live. It felt like they were waiting for me. To say _what_ , I wasn’t sure. Maybe they just wanted me to say _something._ Anything at all. Or maybe they could sense that I was on the brink of vomiting all my emotions up in one heave, a rushed rant of feelings filling up my mouth and threatening to spill through the seams of my tightly-shut lips.  
It literally felt like a weight on my chest that I had to get off. And if I passed up the chance to say this to them, right in that space of silence where they were all willing to actually listen to me, then the writhing knot in my stomach would only grow tighter.  
So I took a deep breath.

“…..It just figures… y’know?” I began, voice shaking. “That the second I make a friend, someone that for _once in my fucking life_ I can be close to, my feelings have to come along and fuck things up. Marco may be my best friend, and hell, I’m lucky enough to even have _that,_ but he’d never in a million _years_ return my feelings… It’s impossible for him to fall for someone like me, I’m fucking _trash._ If he finds out, our friendship is ruined. So you know what? No homo. No homo, no homo, no homo, no homo. No homo all the fucking way. I can’t tell him. I refuse to fuck this up!” I swallowed past the thick lump in my throat, and in a hoarse, quiet voice, I added, “Besides… he already likes someone else.”

This time, there was a pause that seemed almost somber. Like they were pitying me. And I couldn’t blame them. I was a pathetic fucking mess.

“Jean…” Eren began, but then he stopped himself.

“What?”

“Look. Just, uh, hear me out, okay? Personally, I kind of agree that Marco’s too good for you-“

“Eren,” Connie warned, but he just kept on going.

“-Shhh, listen! Anyway, that may be true. But I know for a _fact_ that he wouldn’t judge you or stop being your friend just because you’ve got feelings for him. Seriously, he’s better than that. And you thinking any less of him is kind of an insult.”

I was really fucking torn between anger and pride right then, because while he was praising Marco, who I was proud of, he was also pretty much shoving my nose in the goddamn dirt.

“So what I’m _saying_ is…. You should tell him.”

“But… I-“

“Come on! Aren’t you two best friends!? You’re supposed to trust each other! So trust him.”

“But!” said Reiner, “No rush, ‘kay man? I know that coming to terms with things like this is tough, so just take it easy. Give it some time. Tell him when you’re ready… knowing you, you’ll fuck it all up if you run headfirst into it like a dumbass.”

“THANKS.”

“Like I said: No rush.”

It was then that a scuffle could be heard over the line, Eren grunting and shouting things like, “Mikasa! Cut it out! Stop, let go-!” and other static-y sounds as Eren’s mic and headset was yanked around. And then Mikasa’s voice came over the line.  
  
“Jean.”  
“O-oh… uh, hi Mikasa?”  
“Are you going to tell Marco you like him?”

I sighed, scowling around my room at nothing in particular. Just in annoyance, I guess. “So you’ve been eavesdropping on our conversation? What, did Armin hear this whole thing too?”

“Armin’s busy talking on the phone,” she stated matter-of-factly. As though the fact that she’d been eavesdropping was an obvious one. Which, I mean, it was…. But still. “Are you going to tell Marco you like him?”

“I-! I’m kind of going to have to, eventually!”

“Listen to me, Jean. If you really like Marco like you say, and you’re going to tell him, then you have to fucking own it. No more of this hiding behind ‘no homo’ nonsense, got it?”

I gritted my teeth. She was right, but I was stubborn. And also a coward. “Yes, ma’am…”

“Good.” And that was that. She yanked the headset off her head and returned it to Eren, and we all sat in silence for a moment as we listened to him grumble complaints about Mikasa and eavesdropping and butting into conversations.  
And then the silence got awkward.

“So, uh, you guys wanna play some more?” Connie asked. “Or, uh-“  
“I have a question,” I blurted.  
He sighed. “Of course you do. What is it?”

“Connie,” I began. “You said you’re…. uh, asexual. And that it means you’re not really interested in sex with anyone. But… I dunno… you always seemed like kind of a huge flirt around girls, so I just assumed you were straight, I guess? And what about Sasha?”

“What _about_ Sasha!?”

“Don’t you _like_ her!? I thought you two had a little relationship going on-“

“ _Woah,_ woah woah woah woah woah. We…. Do _not_ have a relationship going on!” he denied. “We’re just friends!”

“But you do like her,” I narrowed my eyes. “Or, at least, I thought you did… before you said you were asexual…”

Connie took a deep breath, his exhale loud and static-y against the mic. “Look man, just because sex aint my thing doesn’t mean I don’t like girls. It just means I don’t really wanna have sex with them. In fact, I’m actually heteroromantic, so yeah, I _love_ girls. I just don’t want them hopping on my dick. I use that as a piss-hose and nothing more.”

I mulled over that for a moment, chewing on the inside of my cheek as I did so. “You didn’t deny liking Sasha.”

His sharp inhale was practically a hiss. “Don’t say _anything_ to her about this, _all_ of you, got it!? I don’t want her knowing.”

“Why not?” Reiner rumbled. “She seems pretty interested in you too, the two of you could start dating.”

“No!” Connie shouted. “She… it’s not like that. Me and Sasha are just friends.”

“Does Sasha know you’re asexual?” I asked.

“Of course she does. She’s ace too, dumbass. It’s no secret that she’d choose food over sex any day.”

“Nuh-uh,” Eren said, “Is she really? That’s a really lucky coincidence!”

“It’s really not, though,” Connie said. “That’s kind of… how we met. You know, the whole reason I signed up for the sex, gender and self class as a gen ed was because of my sexuality. Like, it’s kinda tough not liking sex because everyone else seems so obsessed with it, and I kind of feel like the odd one out. So I thought maybe I could learn about other sexualities and shit in that class, maybe meet other people who are… like me? I dunno what I was expecting, to be honest. But like, the second day of class, our professor was going over a bunch of sexualities, and they asked us if we knew what polysexuality was, pansexuality… and when they got to asexuality, some dumbass at the back of the class answered with a joke about cells.

                And Sasha—oh my god, Sasha is _amazing._ She fucking whipped around so fast and told them straight up what it was. She looked like she was gonna _deck_ the guy too. But she looked him right in the eye and told him she was ace before turning back around and class went on like normal. But _holy fuck,_ there was someone in my class who was asexual like me, so the second class ended I walked over to her and introduced myself. Like, it was really awkward at first. Because I didn’t know what to say really except that I was asexual too. But it turns out, that was kind of all I needed to say. She got really excited and we made plans to meet up for lunch later and the rest is kind of history. I learned that she’s not _exactly_ like me—she’s panromantic and has actually had sex before and isn’t _totally_ opposed to it like I am, but still!” Connie sighed, and it kind of sounded sad and wistful from my end. “She’s really pretty. And funny, and sassy, and she isn’t afraid to stand up for herself. And like, just think, if we got together, we wouldn’t _have_ to compromise like she’s had to. We could just not worry about sex and it would be okay, for once…”

Reiner said what we were all thinking. “You’re fucking cute, Connie.”

Connie responded with a garbled response that can only be written as, “Askjkgjlrwsdgfdfff”.

“I really think you should tell Sasha,” Eren said.  
  
“H-how did we go from talking about Jean’s relationship issues to _mine!?”_  
“Stop trying to change the subject,” I grumbled.  
“You’re the one who changed it first!”  
“Am not, I was just genuinely curious.”  
“Well, is your curiosity sated, now?”  
“Almost…”  
  
Connie sighed again. “What is it now?”

“I was just wondering. Uh, you said that Sasha’s asexual, but she’s had sex before. But, what about you?”  
  
“No…”

“Never at all?”

“I mean, I could have. Plenty of times. I’ve flirted around with lots of girls and taken them on dates, and it turns out, when you’re _not_ touching all up on them, they take it to mean you’re a gentleman or some shit. So they started thirsting after me more, I guess.”

“And what did you say?”

“Every fucking time, I would tell them the same thing. They ask me if I wanna fuck. And I just shake my head and say, ‘Nah man, that aint me.’”

I snorted. “You actually said that!?”

“Yeah, loads of times! And they always got all offended, like I didn’t think they were attractive or something and that’s why I couldn’t get it up for them! Most of the time, they’d call bullshit when I tried to explain that I just didn’t like sex, because apparently, all guys are supposed to.”

“Ah… sorry, man.”

“Nah, it’s fine, I’ve gotten used to it.”

“That’s why you should hurry up and sweep Sasha off her feet before someone else beats you to it,” Eren suggested.

“I know!” Connie groaned. “I know I should! I just… I don’t know how! Or what I should do! All my years of experience with the ladies has nothing on this. I’m scared I’ll fuck this up, Sasha’s fucking invaluable.”

“Dude, I’ll help you come up with some ideas, if you like,” I offered.

“No offense, Jean, but judging by your current circumstances, I’m probably not gonna be taking your advice to heart. You’ve got your own shit to worry about, anyway.”

“Wow, thanks for your concern,” I droned.

“No problem, bro.”

“Alright guys,” Reiner interjected. “This has been a great feelings jam and all. Trust me, I’ve enjoyed it just as much as you all have. But… we’re on Xbox Live and we’re not even playing anything…”  
  


* * *

  
I was awake. I was _wide_ fucking awake and sweating like a goddamn horse at three in the _fucking_ morning while my pulse thundered in my ears.  
It was dark and I couldn’t see and my arm was stretched across my bed. I was reaching for someone who wasn’t even there. Just cold empty sheets. I let out a broken sob, pressing my lips into a thin line every time his name threatened to come out, panting heavily through flared nostrils. I was a fucking mess.

In an attempt to find some way of calming myself down, of somehow comforting myself, I snatched the extra pillow from the edge of my bed and wrapped my arms around it, pressing it against my heaving chest. If I scrunched my eyes shut tight enough, I could imagine it was him. I could imagine his big brown eyes looking at me and his arms around me and how he says my name. I could imagine he was _right there_ and that everything was okay.  
  
But that pillow was too fucking small and cold and lifeless and I _hated_ it. So I took it and hurled it across my room so that it smacked against the wall, and I curled back up on my bed, balling my hands into fists with my arms around my knees.  
  
“ _Marco.”  
  
_ My voice was small in that dark room. It was just a whimper. I was so used to him climbing into bed with me and petting my hair and murmuring about how everything was alright after the nightmares that the emptiness of my own room scared me. He hadn’t heard me say his name because he wasn’t there.  
  
A small tear leaked out of the corner of one of my eyes to mix with the sweat still clinging to my pillow, and I sniffled loudly. I was fucking weak. And stupid.

I turned over in my bed so that my eyes fell on my bedside table, the lamp that had once been there gone. Anita, my family’s housekeeper, had come in and smacked me over the head when she saw the mess earlier, and even with me protesting and telling her I’d do it myself, she cleaned up all the glass. And when she found my phone laying among the shards, she’d picked it up and softly handed it to me, pecking me on the cheek.  
Anita’s always had the motherly intuition that my own mom lacked. I think she guessed that something weird was going on with me.

Sitting in place of the old glass lamp was the fuzzy outline of my phone in the dark, and I grabbed for it. I unlocked it to find that I had one unheard voicemail waiting for me, and I already knew who it was. Knowing that Marco’s voice was just a finger-slide away both excited and frightened me. I missed him. Oh my _god_ did I miss him, and I wanted to hear him right then, but at the same time… I wasn’t sure what to expect. Would he sound like his normal cheery self, just checking up on me? I didn’t fucking want that, and I know this sounds selfish and just fucking _mean,_ but… I kind of wanted him to be upset. I wanted him to really fucking care.  
But I also didn’t want to hear that he was sad either. The guilt would eat me _alive._ I was so fucking conflicted and I didn’t know what I wanted and it was really starting to piss me off. So I sat up straight, let my sheets pool around my bare waist, and I squinted against the brightness of my phone’s screen while I just opened up the voicemail already. I put the receiver to my ear… and I waited.  
  
When the message began to play, there was a dull buzz in the background, like he was in a public place with lots of people or something.  
  
“ _Ah-uh, h-hi, Jean!”  
_  
My heart rate picked up again, but not because of the nightmare.  
  
“ _This, uhm…. This is Marco, and… I was just wondering how you were doing. Since. You know. You aren’t answering any of my text messages. And I’m kinda worried. And..”  
  
_ His voice was oddly shaky and stilted. I could hear him swallow, and then, in a smaller voice that sounded a bit farther away, I heard him whisper, “ _I sound like an idiot!”  
_ A smaller, squeakier voice answered him. “ _Keep going!”  
  
_ He was quiet for a long moment. I was practically on edge, waiting for him to say something more, to hear more of his voice. I was grossly pathetic.

 _“Y-you should call me back,”_ he said. “ _Just hoping your nightmares aren’t giving you much trouble… and, well, uh-“  
  
“Marco misses you!” _ the small voice shouted.  
 _“Marie!”_

That was where the voicemail ended, and I was left with nothing but the voice of the robotic operator in my ear. Despite what I’d just woken up from, I found that I was grinning sadly to myself in the dark. He was missing me and he was worried about me and my nightmares and wanted to know how I was and he cared. Like, of _course_ he cared, he’s my best friend, but having heard him say all that made me feel… happy. Just a little bit, at least.  
“I miss you too,” I whispered.  
  
Just listening to Marco’s voice had taken the edge off my fear. My tensed shoulders had relaxed, and I wasn’t shaking anymore, and I was really calming down. And I wanted to hear more.  
  
I was _so_ fucking tempted to call him right then, right at 3 am, just to hear his sleepy voice and tell him how sorry I was and that I wanted to talk to him. It’d only been a few days of avoiding the guy and I was already snapping, and I didn’t _care._  
But I was a fucking dick. I’d been ignoring him and not talking to him when he’d been reaching out to me, and then as soon as I get another nightmare, I suddenly think I’m entitled to his presence? At a fucking ungodly hour of the morning as well, for fuck’s sake.  
  
So I didn’t. I didn’t call him.  
I began to text him instead.  
  
 **To: Marco  
hey. i realize i probly seem like kind of a jackass since i havent talked to u in a while. so its sort of a dick move for me to just text you like this just because of another nightmare. but I could rly use your company rn.**

I hit send before I could stop myself. And I kept typing before I could stop myself, too. If I let myself stop and think about what I was doing, I’d probably punch myself in the face.  
  
 **To: Marco  
im not going to call you tho. bc im sure youre sick of being woken up by me all the time at this point. honestly, just texting you is already making me feel better. you always make me feel better after the nightmares without even trying to.**  
  
 **To: Marco  
…..that might sound a lil bad. im not your friend just because you make me feel better after nightmares, youre just an awesome person all around, but i miss having you around after bad dreams rn. ive missed you before now too, but i didnt text you bc. of reasons I guess….. i sound hella dumc, so im just going to stop, these messages are probably annoying you.  
  
To: Marco  
actually… i have something to tell you, marco  
  
** _What the fuck are you doing._

I backspaced the fuck outta that message. What kind of _idiot_ confessed over text message at 3 am!? A drunk one, and I was completely fucking sober. Besides, I wasn’t ready to tell him yet. I wasn’t ready to tell him why I wanted to know who he liked so bad, or why I craved him so much. Why I’d been avoiding him.  
  
I decided to blame my addled brain on the nightmaresinstead of the fact that I was a complete dumbass who didn’t know how to deal with a stupid crush.

Now, I _knew_ that Marco wasn’t just going to wake up to answer my text messages. The dude was a heavy sleeper. But there was still a tiny bubble of hope within me that kept me awake, thinking that maybe he’d reply soon. Maybe he’d cuss me out like I deserved. Maybe he wouldn’t. I didn’t care, I just missed him.  
  
I missed him so much that I fell asleep while replaying his voicemail over and over and over again.  


* * *

_  
Bzzt bzzt._

I jerked awake to find my phone plastered against the side of my face, a puddle of drool soaking into my pillow. My room was bright from the sunlight pouring in through the window, and everything was so quiet it was almost suffocating. Perhaps I was the only one home. I yawned and wiped at the residual saliva sticking to my cheek, pulling my phone away from my face to squint blearily at the screen.  
  
One new message.  
  
I was wide awake in an instant, clawing at the crust in my eyes and opening the text. Marco had texted me. _Marco_ had _texted_ me! I was fucking _pumped._  
  
 **From: Marco  
You and me are going to Skype today. We need to talk.  
  
** Shit.  
  


* * *

You know those messages where you instantly know you’re in deep shit. You know you fucked up, and you know you can’t deny it. You just…. you just _know._

And for me, this was one of those times. I knew.  
  
I spent all that day knowing. I was going to have to own up to my bullshit. I couldn’t even just pretend with dumbass excuses like, “Oh, yeah, time just got away from me! I didn’t even notice we hadn’t talked in a while! How silly of me!”  
Yeah, no, that wasn’t going to fly. I had clearly been ignoring him. And when we got on skype later that day, I was going to have to look him in the eye and…  
Oh shit. Fuck. I had no idea what I was gonna do. Tell him the _truth!?_ That I was head over heels for him!? Hell no! Apologize, definitely, but I wasn’t going to be able to tell him why an apology was even necessary in the first place.  
  
I-it… it was only Marco, right? Dear, sweet, loving, _forgiving_ Marco. He’d let something like this slide without demanding answers, _right?  
  
  
_

“You really shouldn’t take advantage of your nice friends, that’s how you lose them.”  
  
There was a loud _‘clack’_ as I chopped another potato in half, the knife slamming against the cutting board and just barely missing my finger.  
  
“Careful!” Anita chided, smacking her lips at my clumsiness. “You’re a mess today, you know that? Stop shaking so much.”  
  
I was in the wide open kitchen of my house, helping Anita prepare ingredients for a roast dinner later that night. I liked helping her cook. She’d had me aid her as her “little helper” in the kitchen since I was five, and I’d gotten pretty good at it too. Cooking with her helped keep my hands busy while my mind wandered, and allowed me to organize my thoughts a little better. Not to mention, I just liked spending time with her and helping out. It felt like something real family members do together. It made me feel like… a good son, I guess. It was terrible compensation, to be entirely honest.  
I knew that I was an awful disappointment to my parents. I’d been a little shit growing up and I pushed them away. I’d said terrible things, and I’d made them sad. Their distance and busy work schedules didn’t exactly help our relationship, either. I mean… they weren’t terrible parents, but they weren’t great either. At least they tried. That’s more than I could say for myself.  
  
Anita, you see, is like a second mother to me. And being such a good son to her is just my shitty attempt at trying to make up for what a fuck up I’d been to my real mom. That’s not to say that my love and respect for her isn’t genuine, because let me tell you, it totally is, but guilt has been a big motivator for me as well.  
  
“Earth to Jean-y, you in there?”  
  
I blinked rapidly to find a tanned, slightly withered hand waving in front of my vision, and I quickly looked to Anita. “Y-yeah, sorry… got distracted.”

She yanked the knife right out of my hand. “Someone who’s so easily distracted shouldn’t be using a knife, then, you might end up stabbing someone.” Upon setting the utensil down on the stainless steel counter, she turned to squint at me, pursing her lips with her hands on her hips. “You did hear what I said, right? About not taking advantage of your nice friends?”  
  
“Yeah, I heard you,” I grumbled.  
  
“Good. Because you’d be wise to follow that advice.” She then reached over and slid the cutting board full of chopped potatoes away from me, dumping the mutilated carcasses of the vegetables into a bowl with the rest. “For instance, why don’t you try telling him the _truth_ about why you ignored him?”

“I can’t do that!” My voice cracked. Fuck.

Anita raised a graying eyebrow at me. “Why not? What actually _is_ the reason, hm?”  
  
My ears and face burned under her gaze, and I could only imagine how red I was right then. “I… don’t want to tell you either,” I mumbled.

She smiled, eyes crinkling around the corners. “I see,” was all she said. Anita took a step toward me, raising her arms up to grab my face with both hands. “You should probably leave me to handle the rest of the cooking on my own, today, since you’re no help to me in this state. And you also might want to fix yourself up more so that you look less dead before you go talk to your friend.”

“What!?”

She barked out a callous laugh before releasing my face, turning back to the counter and picking up the knife. “Go see for yourself!”

I raced out of the kitchen and into the hallway, stumbling a bit as my legs knocked into one another. I probably didn’t look as bad as she said… she was just exaggerating… Except when I busted into the downstairs bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror, _she was not exaggerating one bit._  
  
“Aw, shit,” I whined. Looking back at me was a set of bloodshot, baggy eyes, set against the paper-white pallor of my face. My hair was sticking up in tufts, but that’s because I kept running my hands through it in an attempt to calm my nerves. I groaned as I stared at the sick man in front of me, and together we dragged our tremoring hands down our faces.  
 _  
Marco’s gonna know what a fucking mess I am…. Goddammit._

I’ll admit, I hadn’t slept much since I’d gotten home for the break. I knew that should I have another nightmare, no one would be there to calm me down. And I knew that should I _not_ have another nightmare… I’d end up calming _myself_ down in my sleep. Or at least, certain parts of myself. Coupled with me avoiding my parents around the house and stressing out about sexuality and shit, _and_ trying not to masturbate to the thought of my best friend at all hours of the day…. I guess it was safe to assume that my physical and mental health was under a bit of a strain.  
  
Freaking out about having to confront said best friend about being a dick to him probably wasn’t helping either.  
  
 _Bzzt bzzt.  
  
_ “Fuck.”  
  
I yanked my phone out of the pocket of my jeans to discover a new message from Marco.  
  
 **From: Marco  
I’m ready. You?  
  
** Hell to the fucking no I was not. A two hour shower, one long-ass pep talk from myself _to_ myself, and seven chopped potatoes later and I still wasn’t ready. _You know what, Marco? I’m never going to be ready. So no._

**To: Marco  
yeah.**

_Gotta salvage whatever’s left of this friendship, I guess…._

I shuffled out of the bathroom and began the slow ascent up three flights of stairs to my room, practically tripping my way up them in nervousness. I could do this, I told myself. I’d gotten into plenty of arguments with past friends and had never been as anxious as I was right then. But, I mean, none of those friends had been Marco…

When I finally stumbled into my room, I had to take a deep breath before setting myself down in the little spin-y chair in front of my computer. And even after logging onto Skype, I had to wait around for Marco to hurry up and get online. I drummed my fingers against my desk impatiently, and when a skype notification erupted from my too-loud speakers, I almost jumped ten feet into the fucking air.

**THE CONSTER MONSTER: hey man, sup**

I had to pinch the bridge of my nose and take three deep breaths before answering, glowering at the screen as I smashed out a reply

**Jean Valjean: what the fuck do u want**

**THE CONSTER MONSTER: jesus, I was just saying hi.**

**Jean Valjean: look connie i cant talk rn, im waiting for marco to come online**

**THE CONSTER MONSTER: OHHHHHHHHH are u gonna tell him  
over SKYPE!??? wait man nah dont do that**

**Jean Valjean: no im not about to tell him over skype. look im trying to prepare myself to finally talk to the guy, and ur rly not helping.  
  
** And then a skype notification box popped up in the bottom right-hand corner of my screen. ‘Marco Yolo is online’.  
  
 **THE CONSTER MONSTER: oh shiiiiiiiiiiit there he isssssss. Good luck, dude!  
oh yeah, protip: try not to stare too long. You may be a dense box of rocks, but marco is considerably less dense.  
still kinda dense, tho  
  
Jean Valjean: wait what’s that supposed to mean**

Connie logged off as soon as that last message was sent, before I could get any clarification on what he was talking about. Me? _Dense?_ Like fuck I was. I shrugged and turned my attention back to the matter at hand: talking to Marco. So I clicked on his name and… waited.  
  
I’d expected for him to just start calling immediately. Or at _least_ send me a chat message. But the chat was empty. There wasn’t even a little moving pencil to show that he was in the midst of sending a message. There was nothing. So I went ahead and sent him one first. Waiting around like that was going to set my nerves on fucking fire, as though I wasn’t anxious enough already.

**Jean Valjean: ?**

Yeah. I couldn’t even send a single word. Just a question mark. One lone question mark. I’m lame, I know.

And then he was fucking calling me. I jumped in my seat, my heart racing in my chest. That annoying-ass Skype call-tone rang out louder than I’d expected, and I scrambled to turn the volume on my speakers down before moving my cursor over the ‘accept’ button. And….. _fuck._

_Click it. Click it. Click it. Click it. Why aren’t I clicking it. I need to click it. Jean, click it. You need to click it. Oh my FUCKING god, just CLICK IT._

_‘Click!’_

It took a few moments for the video feed to come through, but when it did….  
My stomach flipped. I could see Marco staring back at me from his room out in Jinae. But that wasn’t what was wigging me out; what was wigging me out was that he could see _me._

His dark hair was combed as usual (coughnerdcough), and he was sitting straight up, broad shoulders raised, tense. He was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, and I could just _feel_ his eyes taking in my appearance. I mean, hey, I’d had better days; it won’t kill me to look not-sexy for just one day out of my entire life.  
But yeah, the dude looked… not like his cheery self at all. The massive carving knife in my chest twisted again. Good to know that was still there.  
  
I picked nervously at my nails and wrung my wrists while I waited for him to say something already, _anything,_ but the fucker just stayed quiet. Things hadn’t even been this awkward between us when we’d first met, what the fuck. I watched him lean forward towards the webcam— _Oh look he’s still hella cute, hahaha fuck my virgin ass. Figuratively speaking—_ and start to open his mouth, but… no words came out. He was just kind of gaping like a fish.

 

“Jean-“  
  
“Marco-“

FUCKING. AWKWARD. We both said each other’s names at the same time like a couple of fuckwads and shut back up again. I was way past uncomfortable—my heart was pounding because hey, I’m a fucking lovesick puppy who’s terrified of losing their best friend because he knows he’s a fuck up, and my palms were nasty and sweaty no matter how much I rubbed them on my pants, and I couldn’t stop running my fingers through my hair because they were shaking and I was just basically a hot mess. Marco was _very visibly_ uncomfortable; he kept shifting around in his chair like he couldn’t get his ass comfortable— _Mmm, his ass—_ and biting his lips and basically just looking like I caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.

I sighed loudly, trying to break the tension while sitting back and folding my arms. And in the least scratchiest-and-hoarse voice I could manage, I said, “You wanted to talk?”  
I was still pretty damn hoarse, goddammit.  
  
He looked down towards his feet, still chewing on that lip (it was fucking distracting is what it was) while he nodded. And then he looked back up and straightened himself. “Yeah.”  
  
“What about?”  
  
His brow furrowed, not in an “I’m angry” kind of way, more like a “stern fatherly disapproval” kind of way, y’know? “I think you know what I want to talk about, Jean,” he said.  
  
 _Oh boy do I._ For a moment, I just stared at him, admiring the smattering of freckles across his round nose, his square jaw, his dark hair that most likely smelled like his flowery shampoo… I looked down at my lap, away from him. Sighing, I said, “Yeah… about that…. Marco, I need to apologize.” I paused to lick my lips and take another deep breath, trying to calm my heart down, then added, “For not talking to you until now, and not replying to your texts. I’m an asshole.”

When he sighed, I almost jumped— _fuck_ I was jittery. I looked back up at my screen to see him leaning back in his chair, pointing his nose skyward. “I don’t mind, Jean,” he said. I really hoped he was lying. “I’m actually more interested in _why_ you haven’t been talking to me. Did I do something wrong? Are you pissed off at me?”

“What!?” I yelped, “No, of course not! Dude, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

He groaned and, still leaning back, brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Then _why_ have you been ignoring me?”  
  
 _Because I’ll fuck things up.  
Because I wanna kiss your stupid face.  
You like someone else, man, come on…  
I had a WET DREAM about you dude, I’ve defiled our friendship! There has to be some kind of rule against this in the bro-code, man, you don’t want me around…  
I really think I love you and I’m scared.  
  
_ All these things went through my head as I sat there, my mouth opening and clicking shut over and over again, and my face felt so hot I thought I was going to catch on fire right there. I couldn’t say any of that shit! I couldn’t say anything, really, unless I wanted to lie. And I didn’t. So I shut my mouth and looked down, refusing to say anything.  
  
“Jean?”  
  
I rubbed at the back of my neck and shrugged. Just shrugged. That’s the best I could do. Fucking weak.  
  
“Jean, don’t even act like you don’t know the reason-“  
  
“No, I do!” I interrupted, sitting bolt upright and looking up. “I _do_ know the reason. It’s just….”  
  
“It’s just?”  
  
“It’s just,” I paused to look back down, avoiding his gaze, “I really can’t… _tell_ you.”  
  
I could tell just by the tone of his voice that he wasn’t happy to hear that. “Can’t, or won’t?” he grumbled.  
  
“….Won’t.”  
  
I looked back up and _holy shit he was scowling at me._ His expression was dark and a lot harsher than I was used to. I cleared my throat, pulled my legs up into my chair and wrapped my arms around them, and said, “Yet.”

“Yet?”  
  
I merely nodded, placing one elbow on my knee so that I could lift my arm and twiddle around with the hair that fell over my forehead, using the arm as a sort of shield from Marco’s serious expression. “I’ll tell you eventually,” I said, peeking around at him, “but I just… need some time. To process. Things.”  
  
His gaze softened, and I watched him stare back at me for a few long seconds. I knew that it was shitty of me to give him such a bullshit answer, but I really wasn’t ready! I wasn’t ready to see his face when I told him I’d fallen for him. I wasn’t ready to hear his awkward response when he told me that he just thought of me as a friend; he’d try and be nice about it, but it’d still hurt. And I definitely wasn’t ready to hear, “I’m sorry, Jean, you know I already like someone else,” because I’d probably explode with jealousy and anger and a fuckload of sad, and honestly I don’t think all the Ben & Jerry’s in the goddamn _world_ would be able to cure my heartbreak if I had to hear those words come out of Marco’s mouth.  
  
Marco blushed a light pink (cute cute cute) before huffing out a, “Fine. There’s no rush. Just tell me when you’re ready, okay?”  
  
The little Jean inside my head threw the football down to the ground, jumping for joy. _Touchdown! We made it, we’re all good!  
  
Keep it cool, _ I reminded myself, nodding again and twirling my hair. “I’ve missed you, man.”  
  
“I’ve missed you too.” His voice was soft and gentle again, thank god.  
  
“D-do… do you forgive me?” I asked quietly. I had a small bubble of hope swelling inside me, that soon we could just talk about normal shit and I could stop feeling so guilty.  
  
Still peeking at him from around my arm, I watched his throat bob as he swallowed. “…I dunno.” That’s all he said. _I dunno.  
  
_ For a second, I could feel a rug being pulled out from under me, my stomach plummeting. The small bubble of hope popped, and the little Jean in my head threw himself to the ground next to the football, face-first in the artificial grass. _I fucked up,_ he groaned.  
“Oh,” was all I could manage. And even with that one small syllable, my voice _still_ cracked. Fuck. “I.. I get it. It’s fine. I, uh….” My voice was shaking and my breathing came out in shudders and saying this next sentence was like pulling my own teeth. I couldn’t even look up at him while I said it, running my fingers through my hair.  
“We don’t have to talk for a while. If you don’t wa-“  
  
“No!”  
  
I flinched at his yelp, jerking my head up to look at him in surprise. I cocked my head a bit. “What?”  
  
“N-no, I just,” he took a deep breath, “Can we please just go back to talking normally?” It was a plea, one that I was _really_ happy to hear.  
  
I sat straight up. “Yeah,” I said, releasing an exhale of air that was half a sigh, half a chuckle. Straightening out my legs, I uncurled my whole body, setting my feet down on the floor. “Yes, that’d be awesome!” But before I could get too excited, I paused, pressing my lips into a thin line. “But… you’re still mad at me.”  
  
“I’m not mad at you at all,” he denied. “I’m just… still really hurt.”  
  
 _Hurt._ That word. I hated it.  
Sometimes, I forget the emotional impact that my words and actions can have on people. I forget that, although the pain is different from physical afflictions, emotional pain can be inflicted because of how fucking stupid I am. I’m always worried about being right, about winning an argument, about my own personal problems, and I don’t realize what an asshole I am until it’s too late. I don’t realize that just because a person’s bones are still intact, just because their skin is devoid of scrapes and bruises, _just because_ they’re _physically whole,_ doesn’t mean they’re not in pain.  
I’d _hurt_ Marco. Me. I did that. To Marco.  
  
I hated myself.  
  
So, like the dumbass I am, I freaked. My mouth gaped open, my head and heart racing, my stomach churning. I freaked and I scrambled for whatever words I could find to make this better.  
  
“I-I… Marco, I promise you, I’ll tell you eventually, I’ll tell you _exactly why_ I was too afraid to talk to you, but I can’t do that right now. And when I tell you, you’ll understand, I swear-“  
  
“Afraid?” His eyebrows slanted upwards, brown eyes wide with worry. “Why would you be afraid to talk to me!?”  
  
 _SHIT. Shit shit shit shit shit. Great job, Kirschtein, at this rate you’ll have the ‘World’s Greatest Fuck Up’ award before the New Year!  
_ I could feel the blood just draining from my face, my heart almost stuttering to a halt. Why. Why don’t I think before I talk. Why did I have to say the word ‘afraid’? Fucking _dumbass._ And he was just _staring_ at me, waiting for me to say something, to explain, but! Nothing! Nothing was coming to mind! And now he knew I was a fucking coward, just great!  
  
I stared back at him with eyes so wide I felt like they’d roll out of my sockets at any second, and in those few deathly-silent moments, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find that my heart had stopped completely and that I was medically dead.  
  
“Jean..?” he murmured in that soft voice of his, and he shifted where he sat. “Jean, you know you don’t have to be afraid to talk to me, right?”  
  
I… couldn’t breathe. I could barely even think. Honestly, I just wanted to curl back up on my bed and hide under my covers and just… not let anyone look at me ever again.  
  
“You can tell me absolutely anything without being afraid,” he continued, and his tone was quiet, reassuring. “I’m not going to… I’m not going to _judge_ you, you know that.”  
  
But even as he said that, all I could imagine was the look he’d make if I were to tell him my feelings. And I know Marco’s not a judgmental person, he’s actually extremely accepting and kind and friendly and completely trustworthy, but… I guess I just valued the closeness we shared as friends too much.  
Because even the nicest people will slowly pull away from you if they know you have unrequited feelings for them. Not always on purpose, but always nonetheless. Of that I was sure.  
  
I leaned forward and set my elbows onto the hard wood of the desk in front of me, pinching the bridge of my nose and clenching my tired eyes shut. “Please,” I almost whispered, “Let me figure this all out on my own, Marco.” _Just give me some time.  
  
_ Silence. The sound of me breathing heavily through my nose. His chair creaking as he shifted in it. And then… “Okay.”  
  
“O-okay?” My eyes flipped open, and I put my hand back down, but I remained leaning forward. He was just looking back at me with that calm expression, his eyes soft, and he wore a smile that was barely even there. But it was.  
  
He nodded. “Okay.”  
  
I released a heavy sigh, sitting back in my chair and letting my limbs hang heavy on the armrests and floor. Marco’s smile grew a tiny bit at that. But just a tiny bit.  
  
I began to croak out more apologies, my throat raspy and dry and just… _tired._ I was tired. This wild ride of stress and emotions had completely sapped me of my strength. “I’m sorry, I’ll-“  
  
“Don’t apologize,” Marco told me. “Just tell me when you’re ready.”  
  
I relaxed again, giving him a jerky nod before letting my eyes glaze back over. Because holy shit. If I was this stressed already, then the act of actually confessing might possibly kill me. I had quite the task ahead of me. How the fuck was I going to do this.  
  
“But Jean.”  
  
I sat up, blinking the loose thoughts and worries away. “Hmmm?”  
  
He let out a huff of air through his nose. “Don’t hesitate to call me when you get your nightmares from now on, okay?”  
  
“I…. Marco, no, I mean-“ I paused to sigh, and then said through gritted teeth, “I feel bad when you lose sleep because of me.”  
  
And for the first time since I’d last seen him, Marco cracked a genuine grin so wide, it stretched from ear to ear. “No offense, but… judging by appearances, I don’t think _I’m_ the one in need of more sleep.”  
  
That actually got a laugh out of me.  
  
“Fair enough.”  
  
The conversation continued like that. I still protested against calling him every time I had a fucking nightmare, and he protested back until I finally agreed not to hesitate the next time it happened.  As we kept talking, I could feel the tension dissipating, Marco becoming more and more like his regular cheery self, with his terrible puns and Spongebob references and basically just being a giant ball of cute. He’d seemed so… _sad_ at the start of the conversation, and seeing him happy and smiling again filled up the hole that guilt and fear had eaten into me.  
  
I could have listened to his voice all day. I loved watching him laugh and smile like the big goofball he always is, and I loved being the one to make him smile like that. Honestly, I probably paid more attention to his mouth than was healthy, watching his lips stretch with each grin and trying not to think about kissing them, or sliding my tongue between them because then that’d be gay.  
  
 _…….Oh. Wait a second.  
  
I still gotta get used to that.  
  
_  Marco had told me a particularly funny joke (at Eren’s expense, but what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him) when, in the background, I heard something slam followed by a shrill voice saying…. _Something,_ but I couldn’t quite make out what.  
  
I squinted at Marco, his eyebrows rising up to meet his hairline. “What was that?” I asked.  
  
The voice came again, this time calling his name, and his shoulders raised so that they were tense and stiff.  
  
“…So, Jean,” he said, voice strained, “What exactly is your opinion on small children?”  
  
A series of dull _‘thud thud thud’_ s could be heard from his end, progressively getting louder, and if I had to be honest I’d say that it was not unlike a scene out of a horror movie, thick with suspense.  
  
“Oh god,” I groaned, rolling my eyes, “I _hate_ kids. Why?”  
  
“Weeellllll-“  
  
The door to Marco’s room burst open right then, and a small girl with long dark hair threw herself at Marco with a shout of his name. “I missed you!” I heard her say, and Marco gave her a quick hug before looking back up in my direction.  
  
“Jean,” he said tentatively, voice slow and careful, “this is my little sister, Marie.”  
  
The girl turned to look at me as well, gasping in what was probably surprise. Behind her, Marco rested his chin in her hair and mouthed a short phrase to me. Why the fuck do people keep expecting me to be able to read their goddamn lips, I’m fucking shit at it.  
  
 _The rice bees? What the fuck does that mean, is it some sort of secret code? The fuck is a rice bee?_

I raised my eyebrows in mild confusion, taking in the little girl’s sudden appearance. See, when Marco had said “small children”, I thought he was talking about… well, like, toddlers. Or four year olds. This girl was quite a bit taller than that, the crown of her head coming up to the middle of Marco’s chest when he was sitting. I supposed that since she was his little sister, he probably thought of her as a small child anyway; and knowing what kind of person he is, I could guess that he probably babied the living fuck out of her too.  
She was lucky.  
  
That aside, I was fucking fascinated. Being an only child, the similarities that biological siblings often shared was, in a word, bewildering. Marie had Marco’s exact button nose, granted that it was scaled to size on her considerably smaller face. A smattering of freckles dusted her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose, and her eyes were like Marco’s exactly: big and round and bright and brown. Dark bangs fell over her forehead, the rest of her long hair spilling over her shoulders.  
  
I didn’t notice I was staring until Marco’s arms wound tightly around the girl in front of him, and he started to chew at his lip again.  
  
“Oh!” I said in surprise, sitting up straight. I wasn’t sure how to react, so like the incredibly witty social genius I am, I just said the first thing that came to mind like usual.  
  
“She… she looks like a mini-you, dude. But like, a _girl_.”  
  
 _Eloquent, Jean, wonderfully said. Fucking riveting._  
  
“But Jean,” Marco grinned, “Am I a _pretty girl?”_ He fluttered his dark eyelashes at me, pressing Marie back into his chest, and I couldn’t hold back my disgusted grimace.

He chuckled lightly, then said in a much softer voice, “Come on, Marie. Say hi.”

Marie blushed a bit, her dark lashes fluttering before she mumbled a tiny, “Hello.” Aw.  
  
Uh. Fuck. What was I supposed to say to a kid? I was a kid once, right? What did I talk about when I was 6? Or was she 7? Maybe she was 8. Either way, I couldn’t remember what I was up to at that age, so I just ran my fingers through my hair over and over again, watching as Marie swayed from side to side in Marco’s embrace.  
Her brother broke silence by clearing his throat rather loudly, and saying, “That’s the friend I told you about, Marie. At the mall. Remember?”

_He was talking about me with his little sister…? The fuck did he say about me!? What was he talking about!?_

Marie rapidly nodded her head before turning to Marco and whispering in his ear. Marco’s eyebrows pulled down darkly, knitting together in confusion, before saying in a much louder voice, “About what?”

“He _is_ cute.”

_Aaaaayyyy. Hell yeah I am._

“ _Marie!”_ Marco yelped, his mouth gaping like a fish’s. He flashed a bright red then, his eyes practically bugging out of his skull, and I let out a muffled laugh.

“You’re pretty cute yourself, Princess,” I said, throwing her my best, prize-winning smile.  Marco sighed loudly behind her, out of relief or exasperation, I couldn’t tell. Meanwhile, Marie let out a tiny squeak before turning to hide her face in her brother’s shoulder.

Marco grinned sheepishly, bringing a hand up to pet her hair. “She’s… not usually this shy,” he said. I shrugged.

“It’s fine. I’m, uh…” I paused to rub at the back of my neck, “not really used to talking to kids anyway.”

And then Marie was throwing a glare at me from over her shoulder, her round cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s while she pouted. “I’m not a kid!”

“I-uh… you’re not!?” I blinked in confusion, completely stunned to say the least.  
“No!” She turned completely around, facing me full-on. “I’m a woman!”

_…Huh?_

_…Just roll with it, Jean. Be cool._

“Oh! Of course!” I threw up my hands in surrender for added effect. “I’m so sorry, Princess. Yes, you’re a woman.”   
  
She scowled at me, dark eyebrows pulled down over brown eyes, her frown more of a pout than anything else, but I’m still pretty sure I broke a sweat under that gaze, my heart beginning to race. Did I fuck up? _Already?_ See, this is why I’m such shit with children, because I don’t know how to fucking talk to them with majorly fucking up. This kid looked like she was ready to tear me a goddamn new one! Fuckin’ hell.

“You’re a very beautiful woman,” I tried again, swallowing thickly and keeping a wide, fake grin plastered across my face. _Don’t show any sign of weakness,_ I reminded myself. I remembered reading that in some childcare textbook back in my high school home-ec class…. I think.  
  
Marie’s scowl broke out into a wonderstruck smile then, her eyes wide, teeth in full view. She was missing one in the top front, I noticed.  
She stepped closer to the webcam, still smiling that silly little grin. “I’m beautiful?”

I had to stop myself from sighing in relief, all the fear and tension uncurling in my gut. _Thank fucking god._ “Probably the most beautiful I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting,” I smiled, the cheesy words slipping easily from my lips in the aftermath of my relief. I mean, come on, I clearly had an advantage here: sweet talk her, and everything would be fine!

And it seemed to be working; Marie clapped her hands over reddening cheeks, peeking out from between her fingers as she hid bashfully behind them. _Fucking success._  
“Aw, come on, don’t hide your pretty face,” I crooned. See? It was easy. Nothing to worry about.

She blushed even harder than before, her hands lowering slightly and giving me a better view of her eyes. “B-but, my face… isn’t actually pretty,” she said quietly. “There’s freckles all over it.”

I felt my smile fall a bit, and I stared at her in confusion. “What’s wrong with freckles? I think they’re _very_ pretty.”  
“You do?”

“Yeah. Actually,” I paused, my head reeling with the implication of what was actually about to come out of my mouth.  
Marco’s freckles. In my mind’s eye, I could see them. Under the sun on campus. From the side, when he couldn’t see me staring. Splattered with the water droplets that were dripping from his hair after a shower. Standing out against a deep red blush. On his cheeks. Over his nose. Down his neck. Across his shoulders. Up close, in the dark, mere centimeters from my mouth. My breath ghosting across them, and the goose bumps that broke out in response.  
Before I could stop myself, I was glancing at Marco, but only for half a fraction of a moment. Then I turned away. Not even enough time for him to notice… right?  
  
“….Freckles are my type.”

I could almost _feel_ Marco looking at me, his gaze burning holes into my head all the way from Jinae to Trost, and I made it my mission to not return that gaze. I kept my stare on Marie, pointedly away from Marco, but it was almost like everything in the optical region of my brain was focused on the tall black haired boy in my peripheral vision.

Marie gasped loudly, her hands dropping down to the hem of her purple sweater so that she could twist it between nervous hands. “So am _I_ …. your type?”

Feeling a blush creep onto my cheeks, I laughed a bit. “Yeah, I guess you are.”

“ _Marco, Marie, get down here, we’re going out to eat!”_ came a sudden voice, accompanied by what sounded like knocks-on-wood or bangs. The voice sounded distinctly female, so I could only assume it was their mother.

“Alright,” Marco said, “Jean, we have to go eat. Should we do this again sometime….?”  
The smile I was still wearing melted right off, giving way to a soft and somber frown. I nodded seriously. “Yeah, of course.”  
“Marie, say bye to Jean,” he said, and Marie slowly waved a small set of fingers, her eyes still wide and staring glassily at me. “Bye, Jean,” she mumbled.  
“See ya, Princess.”

Marco leaned forward, closer to the webcam, giving me a much better view of his jet black hair, round brown eyes, freckles. “And Jean?” he said.  
“Yeah?”  
“If I text you, would you text back?”  
I glowered in response. “I already said I would.”  
“Okay. Thank you,” he smiled, soft and warm and sweet. I felt my stomach twist uncomfortably inside me. “Bye, Jean.”  
“Bye… Marco.”

The call was ended, and a feeling of emptiness crept over me. I sat there, hunched over in my chair, the entire house large and empty and silent around me after talking with Marco and Marie. I felt… lonely.  
  
“He’s cute.”  
  
I nearly jumped right out of my fucking skin, whipping around to find little Anita standing in my doorway, a steaming cup in her hand.  
  
“A-Anita! I-!! How long were you standing there!?” I scrambled to my feet, almost tripping over myself in the process.  
  
“Long enough,” she smirked, walking calmly forward to place the cup on the desk next to me. “ _Freckles_ are your _type?_ ”

My heart slammed against my chest, and my ears burned as my mouth gaped open, choking on words that wouldn’t come out.  
  
“Anita-!! I- you can’t-!” I stumbled forward and with shaking hands, I gripped her small shoulders tightly. I felt like I was going to throw up. “You… you can’t tell Mom and Dad, Anita, please-!!”  
  
“Oh, hush, you,” she grimaced, smacking at my arm, and I dropped my hands from her shoulders. “It’s your business to share, not mine. I won’t tell your parents.” She then reached up with long and thin arms, and I hunched lower so that her hands could reach my face, holding me there. “Just like I haven’t told them about the nightmares you still have. Trust me?”

I swallowed thickly, biting at my lips before nodding, and when she smiled, her pale blue eyes crinkled around the edges. She pulled me into a hug, and I wrapped my arms around her, her long gray hair piled atop her head in a messy bun that tickled my cheek.  
  
“Was I really that obvious?” I croaked.  
  
“I knew the second you started telling me about him earlier,” she laughed. “I know love-sickness when I see it. Stupid.”

I felt a buzz in my pocket, and, startled, I jumped and reflexively stepped away from her, pulling my arms away. She gave me a tired smile before patting me lightly on the shoulder.

“Go drink that tea and get in bed,” she said, nodding to the steaming mug on my desk. “You look a mess.”  
  
“But I slept for a solid eight hours this morning-“  
  
“You clearly need more.”

I sighed, fighting a scowl while she turned back around and walked out of the room. “I’ll wake you up for dinner!” she called from the hallway.

I shrugged, picking up the mug and taking a small sip, effectively burning my tongue on the boiling liquid. Chamomile. “Thanks, Anita,” I murmured into the cup, taking another scalding swig before walking over to set it on my bedside table. And after shedding my pants and shirt, I crawled into bed, leaning over the edge to fish my phone out of my discarded jeans pocket.

**From: Marco  
I take it that 7 yr olds are your type too, huh?**

Oh come _on._

**To: Marco  
Oh shut the fuck up i was being nice**

I almost had to physically restrain myself from sending him a follow up text, one that would’ve _surely_ fucked our friendship up for good. Instead, I threw my phone back down on the pile of clothes on the floor, chugged a few mouthfuls of tea, then curled back up beneath the covers, a pillow encased in my arms. I fell asleep almost instantly, relaxed after talking to Marco again. And the last thing on my mind as I dropped off into unconsciousness was the message I’d never send.  
  
 _It’s not so much that freckles are my type… they’re just what’s on your skin.  
Freckles aren’t my type, Marco. You are._

* * *

 

  
 _“O-oh! J-Jean!”  
“Shhhhh…”  
I kissed the bite mark I’d left behind on Marco’s neck, lips lingering against the warm skin, and I slipped my tongue out to lick at it soothingly. He whimpered at that, and I bit down again, sucking hard to fight against the urge to laugh at him.  
Marco’s hips bucked down against my own, his hardness grinding into mine, and my eyes rolled shut._

_“Shit, Marco,” I hissed, pulling my lips off him with a loud ‘pop’, and he shushed me.  
“You’re going to wake everyone up,” he whispered, lifting himself up so that our lips could meet. A quick swipe of his tongue against mine, and he was pulling away again.  
“Me?” I smirked, “You’re the loud one, here.” To add emphasis, I rocked my hips up into his again, and he bit back a low groan. Someone in the bed to our right shifted. We paused, and I grinned.  
“See?” I whispered.  
  
He scowled down at me in the dark. “We’ll see about that.” And then he was scooting down my legs, wriggling down until he was lying between them, his face pressed against-  
  
“MMph-!” I clapped a hand over my mouth as he nuzzled against my clothed cock, and even as he yanked my pajama pants down to tongue wetly at me through my underwear, I could feel him smiling. I could _ also _feel my dick twitching and leaking. I bet Marco could too.  
“That’s not fair!” I rasped, reaching down to tangle my fingers in dark hair.  
  
“Mm, yes it is,” he mumbled against me, and I twitched again. “You love it when I suck you off.”  
  
“Not as much as you love sucking me off…”  
  
“True.”_

_Cool air hit my cock as he pulled my underwear down, and I gasped when I felt his hand wrap around me. Scrunching my eyes shut, I felt him press a small kiss to the soaked head of my dick, and I bit my lip.  
  
“Hey… Jean…”_

_“Mm?”  
  
“Look…”_

_I looked. I propped myself up on one elbow, keeping my other hand in his hair, and I looked._

_His pupils were blown wide in the dark, matching the tangled, sex-tousled hair on his head, and I watched as he brought my dick to his lips and took me in between them. Even as the breath left my lungs and my spread legs trembled on either side of him, pale in the darkness, I couldn’t look away. More and more of me disappeared into his mouth, lips stretched wide, his tongue teasing at the underside of my shaft, and if his jaw wasn’t so busy being pried open by my swollen cock, he probably would have been smirking._

_The head of my cock hit the back of his throat, hot and wet, and he swallowed around me.  
“M-Marco!” I fell back against the mattress, back arching and fingers tugging roughly at Marco’s hair, and I could just feel him watching me through heavily lidded eyes. I couldn’t stop myself from tossing my head back and letting out another whining moan, throwing one arm over my eyes. There was no fucking way I was going to keep quiet; I’d just have to hold on for dear life while Marco fucking sucked the living hell out of my cock and hope no one would wake up.  
“Ohhh my god, _ Marco, _” I groaned as he started to bob his head, cheeks hollowed so that I could feel the soft flesh of his mouth slide gently along my dick. It was quiet, save for the sucking sounds of Marco on my cock and my stupid fucking girly moans, my gasping and panting and whimpers…._

_It took every ounce of willpower I had to peek down at Marco from under my arm and focus my hazy eyes on him, and I looked just in time to see him pull off my dick and swirl his tongue around the head, teasing at the underside, and my shaking fingers gripped his hair tighter._

_And then he was looking up at me, sucking_ hard _on the head, and my hips rolled up involuntarily into his mouth while I cried out.  
“Nn-g-ahh, Marco! Marcomarco Marc-ohhh, fuck! Marco!” He was letting me fuck up into his mouth, my eyes rolling back into my head, and-_

“Marco! Ohh-nng-n!”  
The first thing I felt when I woke up was the hot, sticky spurts of cum spreading over my thighs and stomach. Instant regret was the second thing I felt, the moans of Marco’s name dying quickly on my lips. You wanna know what’s worse than the mess after a wet dream?

The mess after a wet dream when you sleep naked.

It was fucking everywhere.

It clung to my sheets, the covers, and in my half-asleep state, I stuck my hand down there in a shitty attempt at wiping it away. I sighed, sitting up and pushing the nasty covers off me, reaching up to rub the sleep out of my eyes (with my _clean_ hand, mind you) before checking the time on my phone.  
  
A few minutes before 7 a.m., and I was glued to my bed by my own jizz.  
  
 _I hate myself. I hate my dick. I hate my life. Fucking fist me already, Jesus Christ._  
  
The house was quiet, dark, the sun not even up yet, and had I not been absolutely filthy, I might have tried to go back to sleep. But as it were, I wiped myself off on my blankets before wadding the sticky mess up into my arms and sneaking my naked-ass over to the laundry room, cussing myself out the entire way. It was fucking _imperative_ that I get that shit washed before Anita got there. Luckily, nobody was up and around that early anyway, so I was able to start my laundry without any awkward encounters before hopping into the shower.

It wasn’t long until I was curled up in my desk chair, fresh sweatpants and t shirt on while I browsed facebook. Nothing was really happening at 7:30 in the morning—anyone with half an ounce of sense in their skull was sleeping right then. I was just looking for some sort of distraction, something to keep my mind away from the wet dream I’d just had…. Something to keep my dick down, really.

No matter how much I tried to keep my mind off of Marco, I just couldn’t. Not even just because of the dream I’d had—the fucker was all over my goddamn newsfeed. Liking things, here and there. Sweet comments. A selfie of him from the morning he left for Jinae, telling his mom how excited he was to see her, hair tousled and bed-heady. I had… kinda saved that one to my phone, actually.

Sighing in defeat, I clicked my way over to the rest of the photos he’d been tagged in, already missing his face because I’m a pathetic fuck. It was nice to see him in all the little moments of the past, before things had taken a turn for the weird-and-romantic on my end. His calm, dopey smile made my stomach do weird fluttery shit, and a comforting, tingly warmth spread throughout my chest all the way to my fingers and toes when I realized that in nearly all of the pictures he’d been tagged in, I was right there too. Next to him. I kind of looked like an asshole, actually. A _sexy_ asshole.

_Take that, Mr. Whoever-Marco-Likes. I’m here and I’m not leaving._

And then… I scrolled down to our selfie war pics. I think my heart actually throbbed, but then again I’m also kind of melodramatic when I like someone, so I’m not really sure. But it was… kind of strange, to look back at us, long before I fell flat on my face for this guy. Or maybe I’d been falling the whole time and was too stupid to realize before my ass slammed against the ground. Either way, it was still strange.

I paused my cursor over the picture of me nuzzling my head against the side of Marco’s neck, his cheeks aflame, remembering how I’d sat in his lap that day. A rush of anger and longing overwhelmed me, my jaw clenching tight. I can’t believe I was actually getting jealous over _past me._ I was jealous of _myself._ And even though I told myself that, and knew I was stupid for feeling that way, it didn’t change the fact that that was how I felt.

“ _Me n the bae ;)”_ I’d titled it. I fucking wished.

The next picture had me licking along Marco’s cheek, close to his jaw, his face brighter and redder than the light-up nose of the reindeer on the sweater he’d forced me to wear. And amidst the feelings of jealousy I was experiencing, there was also a slight feeling of… smugness, I guess. A small hope that the object of Marco’s affections saw these pictures of us and felt the same jealousy I was experiencing.

Whoever he was, I wanted to make him angry. I wanted to make him jealous. I wanted him to look at all these pictures of me and Marco together, and think that he doesn’t stand a fucking _chance_ with Marco, not while I’m around at least.  
I kinda wanted to beat his fucking face in, too.

But then I realized that whoever he was, Marco really cared about him. And if he could earn Marco’s affection, then he was probably infinitely better than anything I could ever hope to become. He was probably in some of those pictures of Marco too, the fucking bastard.

I scoured through them, focusing on even the blurriest background people for anyone who might _possibly_ be Marco’s crush. Scoping out who I should daydream about beating the shit out of when I was pissed off and jealous as hell.

My chest hurt.  
  
 _Why can’t it be me…._

**Marco Yolo is calling.**

“What the f-UCK--!!!”  
I flew back in my chair, the skype ringtone ringing out in the otherwise silent house, my heart thrashing wildly in my chest at the sudden intrusion on my pity party. Why the fuck was Marco calling me!? It was….  
I peeked at the clock in the bottom-right corner of the screen.  
It wasn’t even eight in the morning, yet!

Just seeing his skype name pop up like that had made my mouth go dry, my nerves on fucking _fire_ while I tried to keep my hands from shaking, uncurling them from the balled-up fists I’d clenched them into at some point…. Probably from how pissed I was at Marco’s Mystery-Man.  
  
Why was he calling me _now?_ Did… he really want to talk to me that bad? I couldn’t screw this up! Did… did I look okay? I snatched up my phone, hurriedly checking myself out via front-facing camera. My hair was still a little damp from the shower, frizzing just a bit, but…. I quirked an eyebrow at myself, smirking. _Not bad, Kirschtein, not bad…  
  
_ Quickly, before the call could drop, I threw my phone to the side and clicked ‘accept’, eagerly looking forward to seeing Marco’s heart-wrenching, soul-crushing, _beautiful_ smile on this absolutely perfect day, but what I found was…..  
  
“U-uh… _Marie?”_

My cocky smirk dropped from my face like a dead fly, replaced with a gaping mouth and eyes wide with confusion. Because there on the screen, Marco Yolo was nowhere in sight—just the smaller, younger, much more female clone of himself that he claimed was his sister. She was smiling brightly into the webcam, a headband with a pretty red bow in her dark hair, the light from the laptop screen making her seem exceptionally pale in the dim lighting as the sun had only just begun to light up the little room. It didn’t look like she was sitting in Marco’s room from the day before… rather, it appeared to be a kitchen, the floor behind her a smooth linoleum that glistened in the glow of Marco’s computer screen.

“Good Morning, Jean,” she said. Her voice was soft. Like she was trying not to wake anyone up…  
  
“You stole Marco’s laptop, didn’t you.”  
  
She hummed, her smile spreading wider and filling out her (slightly chipmunk-like) cheeks. “Maybe.”

“Whyyyyy?”  
  
“Because I wanted to talk to you, silly!” She swayed back and forth where she sat, smiling idly at me, and although I was nervous as hell to be stuck talking to this kid _alone,_ I was flattered. I barked out a laugh.

“I’m glad, but don’t you think Marco’s gonna be pissed when he knows you took his computer?”

She gasped in surprise, eyebrows shooting up, and a split second later they were pulled back down into a scowl. “Jean!”  
  
“W-what?”  
“You just said the _p-word!”  
_ Now it was my turn to scowl.  “What…. _Pissed?_ ”  
“Stop saying that!” she hissed. “That’s a bad word!”  
“Nuh-uh!” I scoffed. “Pissed is _not_ a bad word!”  
“Yes! It is!” She held up three small fingers and waved them in front of the webcam.  “That’s three times too many, buddy!”  
  
Half of me wanted to start cussing up a storm just to spite her. The other half of me was wondering why the lasthalf wanted to spite a seven year old so much. Instead, I just snorted. “Well excuuuuuuuuse me, Princess!”  
  
The second my little pet name for her slipped out of my mouth, her entire expression lit right the fuck back up, wide grin exposing her lost tooth. “That reminds me,” she whispered, and then she ducked off screen, out of her webcam’s line of sight. A few seconds passed, and I began to pick nervously at my nails, but she was back soon enough. And she had a slip of paper in her hands.  
  
“I drew something last night,” she said, holding it to her chest, and in the slowly-brightening kitchen, I could have sworn she looked like she was blushing. It was still kinda too dark to tell, though. Slowly and carefully, Marie turned the paper around—thick, pink construction paper—and held it up to the webcam, its surface illuminated by the light of the laptop screen.  
  
And holy fucking shit, what an interestingly fucked up drawing.

There were two ‘people’ drawn—at least, what I _hoped_ were people. One was tall, with majestically long and spindly legs, brown and black scribbles on his head. ‘JOHN’ was his name, and he had a rad as fuck floating crown. I smirked. Beside him was a much shorter girl with long dark hair, and she too had a floating crown. She wore a wide, bell-shaped dress, and her name was ‘MARIE’. In one of John’s hairy stubs (I think it was a hand, actually) he held up a large, lumpy flower in Marie’s general direction. Interesting.  
But there was one miniscule detail that concerned me…. And it wasn’t the blue sun or green castle in the background, either.  
  
“Marie,” I said, “Where’s your freckles?”  
  
When Marie pulled the drawing away so that I could see her, I noticed that her small hands were shaking, the paper quivering in her grip. She bit her lip, large eyes glancing franticly back and forth between me and the drawing.  
  
“I… uh… I just thought that, it’d look nicer, without my freckles.” Her voice was soft and quiet.

“But why?”  
  
She looked down, at her lap presumably, and when she looked up, her nose was red and her eyes were glistening.  
  
 _Oh hell no.  
  
_ “Nonononono, _no,_ hey, don’t do that,” I commanded. “I know what you’re about to do, so just- don’t-“  
  
She let out a broken sob, and I winced. _Awww maaan._  
  
“Hey! Marie! Princess! Pleeaase please please please stop crying,” I pleaded. Clearly, I was a master at cheering up small children. “What’s wrong? Is it your freckles?”

Round, fat droplets welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, and she nodded, pouting a bit. “They make me ugly,” she whispered.

“ _What!?_ Who the fuck said that!?”  
  
“Stop cussing,” she sniffled.

“S-sorry…” I cleared my throat and tried again. “Marie, who said that to you?”

“Kids at school…” She reached up to rub at her nose, then continued, her voice high-pitched and squeaky. “I had a friend named Kayla, but we got into a fight and now she hates me. She was the only one who knew about my mom and dad’s divorce because I told her, but now that we’re not friends anymore, she told everybody.” Marie let out another sob. “She keeps saying that she stopped being my friend because I’m so ugly. And everyone says my dad doesn’t want me around much anymore because he-“ she paused to hiccup a bit, more tears trailing her cheeks. “Because he thinks I’m ugly too.”

 _What the fuuuuuuuuuck._ Like, I knew kids were cruel ass motherfuckers, but this bitch Kayla sounded like the fucking devil incarnate. Pure goddamn evil. Marie started to break down slowly, her sobs and sniffles gradually becoming louder, and I quickly shushed her.

“Hey, Marie, stop crying!” I told her. “All that stuff your classmates and Kayla say? Lies, all of it, because you’re not ugly, okay!?”  
  
She tilted her head forward, dark hair curtaining around her face so I couldn’t see her.  
  
“Remember what I told you yesterday?”  
  
She shook her head.  
  
“I told you that you’re beautiful. Now who are you going to believe—a bunch of little kids who’re jealous of how pretty you are, or _me?”_  
  
Marie looked up at that, strands of hair sticking to her damp cheeks. “They’re jealous of how pretty I am?”

“ _Yes,”_ I said. “Look, I don’t know your dad, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t think you’re _ugly.”_

“Then why did he divorce us…”

Ouch.  
…This was rough. I wasn’t sure what to say. For a few moments, I didn’t say _anything._ What was it even like, to be seven years old and your parents divorced? And have your entire class calling you ugly because your ex-friend is a complete bitch? I sincerely wanted to hug this kid.  
  
“He didn’t divorce _you,”_ I finally said. “He divorced your mom. Sometimes parents fall out of love with each other. It’s not your fault, Princess. Wipe your eyes off for me.”  
She complied, rubbing at the moisture still leaking down her face.  
“Good. Now, do your parents know what’s happening at school?”  
Marie shook her head.  
“What about Marco?”  
Another shake of the head.  
“Your _teacher?”  
_ “No,” she mumbled. “I’m not a snitch.”  
  
“Who cares about being a snitch! You need to tell your teacher.”  
  
“But then everyone will just make fun of me more…”  
  
“They’re making fun of you because they’re jealous and mean, okay? Don’t let it get to you. If you have to, punch a kid!”  
  
Marie gave me a look that suggested I was out of my fucking mind. “I’m not going to punch anyone! That’s mean!”

“Well, they’re being mean first, so they deserve it! Also, I’m _so_ going to tell Marco-“

“No!” She nearly leapt out of her chair. “You can’t tell him either!”

“Well why not.”

“Because! I don’t want him to know.” She frowned, pouting at me, and it looked like she was going to start crying again. “Please don’t tell him, Jean.”  
  
“Okay! Okay, just- don’t cry, alright? I won’t say anything.” I scowled. “But _you_ should. Tell you what- go grab a piece of paper and something to write with.”  
  
“Huh? Why?”

“Because I’m going to give you my number, and if you need to talk to someone about this stuff, you’re gonna call me _,_ alright?”

And then she was smiling again, the corners of her mouth stretched from ear to ear. She grabbed a second piece of construction paper and a pencil, wrote down my number, and then crammed it into her Tinkerbelle backpack before setting it back down by her front door.  
  
“Don’t lose it,” I warned her, and she nodded enthusiastically.  
  
“I won’t!”  
  
“Now go add some freckles to that picture of us you drew.”  
  
Her smile grew bigger, if that was even possible, and she obeyed. When she finished, she held it up for me to see, and I hummed happily. “There we go,” I said. “It’s perfect.”

“You like it?” she grinned, peeking around the paper.  
  
“Mm-hmm. It’s great. I love it.”  
  
I think that was the most stressful conversation I’d ever had with someone who wasn’t even half my age. Which, I guess, wasn’t saying much, since Marie was the only person I’d ever spoken to who even fit into that category. But I would consider it an overwhelming success—I totally stopped her from crying. That counts for something, yeah?  
Right then, thundering footsteps echoed from Marie’s end of the conversation, and a wonderful, fucking _beautiful_ voice entered the conversation.

 _“Marie!”  
  
_ Marie turned to look behind her, slightly off-screen.  
  
“Heeey, is that Marco?” I called out, shifting around in my seat while I tried to get a view of my friend.  
  
“Marie! What-!? You-!? _What are you doing with my computer!?”_

“Talking to Jean!” she retorted, and from the side I could see her little nose scrunching up. “Duh!”

I was frustrated—like, I could _hear_ Marco, but I couldn’t _see_ him. And I _really_ really wanted to see him. The anticipation was making my stomach flip, and I gripped the edge of my desk nervously, knuckles white. I was being fucking stupid; I’d hung out with the guy and _slept_ with him (platonically, unfortunately) more times than I could count, but the second I realize I’ve got a crush on him, I melt into a goddamn puddle.  
  
Marie was sneering, her eyes still trained on her brother and I still couldn’t _fucking see him._ “And _you_ need to put some clothes on,” she said.  
  
Literally the only phrase she needed to say to make all the blood in my fucking body zero in on my dick. _Marco’s… not wearing any clothes?_ I thought, and just like that, my mind was being viciously assaulted by every erotic image of Marco my imagination could come up with. Memories of slyly peeking at him from across the room as he undressed, the few times we used his dorm’s showers _together_ and I got to see him in nothing but a _towel,_ and that time when his towel actually fucking slipped and I got an eyeful of _beautiful ass-  
  
_ Marco had entered the stage. He was standing tall, his head off-screen, but his bare chest and stomach certainly were not. My mouth went dry at the sight, eyes trailing down his stomach to where the ‘v’ of his hips disappeared into the waistband of his boxers, happy trail and all. And if Marie wasn’t in the way, I’d be getting a beautiful view of his fucking crotch.  
  
Marco picked his little sister up from under her arms, lifting her from her chair, and- _there it is._ My eyes were on the prize and I was at full fucking mast, _fuck_ me. I carded my fingers through my hair, anxious and shaking and blushing hardcore. _Look cool, Jean, you have to look cool, oh fuck!  
  
_ “Go get changed,” he told Marie, “Your bus will be here in like, thirty minutes.”  
  
She threw him a sour pout before huffing loudly and turning away, stomping loudly up what sounded like a flight of stairs. And then he was sitting in her seat, looking slightly flushed and _hella fucking naked.  
  
_ I couldn’t look at him. His _neck_ was distracting as _fuck,_ and that sounds weird, but I could fucking pinpoint the exact spot on the crook of his neck where I’d bit and sucked and licked and kissed in my dream that morning, the images still vivid and in the forefront of my mind. I looked down at my floor, away from him, willing myself to _forget, forget, for-fucking-get,_ _think of him normally_ , _stop thinking of how you wanna mark up his neck right now_ , _forget._ I could still remember, in complete fucking detail, what it felt like to have his skin against my tongue, between my teeth, and the hiss of pleasure elicited from him when I sucked.  
Marco cleared his throat, _loudly_ , and I tried to look up at him, but I couldn’t keep my eyes there, not without feeling like my head was going to explode, what with all the blood pounding through it. I was almost lightheaded, my eyes flitting between my floor and the cute, confused expression he was wearing, his bare shoulders raised and tense.  
  
“Uh, Jean? You okay?” he asked, and this time, my eyes stayed on him.  
  
“Y-yeah!” I said, and I sounded out of breath. “Yeah, I’m great, just. Um. Yeah I’m good.”  
  
“O-okay, then.” He frowned. “Sorry about my sister. Did, uh. Did _she_ call you, or-“

“Yeah,” I said, grinning, and I could feel my blood flow slightly returning to normal, draining from my face. “I thought _you_ were calling me! But, ah, I should have realized that there was no way in hell you’d be awake before eight.”

Marco smiled at that, letting out a small snort of breathless laughter, and my heart fluttered in my chest. “How long were you two even talking?”

I shrugged, peeking over at the little digital clock on my computer. “Ah, I dunno… it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes.”

He squinted at me, clearly suspicious. “And you were _awake?”  
  
_ I nodded, feeling my grin slide off my face, and I looked away for a second before answering the unasked question that was hovering in the air. “Just a dream.”

“Y-you mean _nightmare?”_ he scowled. “Jean, I _told_ you that you can call-“

“No, no, it wasn’t… a _nightmare,_ ” I told him, my eyes glued to the floor again. “It was different…”  
  
“Hmmm. Okay. What was it about?”

 _Well fuck._ I couldn’t look up. I couldn’t look into his eyes, not when I was remembering how they looked when he was smirking around a mouthful of my cock…

Luckily for me, Marie returned to the scene right then, fully dressed this time, and Marco stood up to help her get ready for school. I was free from scrutiny and free to eye his clothed dick, at least for a brief second.  
 _I think this is the point of no return. This is the point at which I admit that crotch-shots of my best friend make me hella fucking thirsty. I’m really fucking gay for this guy, wow.  
_  I listened idly to Marco and Marie moving around their kitchen, the sounds of cereal hitting bowls and Marie’s complaints about milk in her cereal distant and soothing. It gave me time to try and calm myself down, to take deep breaths and let my dick slowly deflate.  
  
I sat back, slightly entertained while shenanigans took place in the Bodt household, Marie trying to reclaim her seat in front of the laptop and Marco fighting her for it. At one point, their mother had raced down the stairs, concerned about Marie’s whereabouts, before Marco had pacified her and informed her that Marie would make her bus on time. She told him to put some clothes on, and then she headed back up the stairs, probably to get more sleep.  
  
“She works late a lot,” Marco told me, sitting in his rightful place in front of his computer, hair disheveled from racing around the kitchen, “so sometimes she sleeps in I guess. Anyway, what were you and Marie talking about, before I so _rudely_ interrupted?”

“Look!” Marie said from off-screen, and I saw her hand holding up that pink piece of paper for Marco to see. “I drew me and Jean! I was showing him this before you came down! He said he liked it.”  
  
Marco took one look at the thing and was rolling his eyes, and I smirked. I watched as his eyes roved over the picture, his brows furrowing into a confused and slightly concerned scowl. But when he looked back up at me, he wore a mischievous smile stretched across his lips.  
  
“ _Jean,_ ” he said, “You didn’t tell me you were a _prince.”  
  
_ “Oh, shut the fuck up!” I yelped, burying my face in my hands where no one could find me. Of fucking course he’d tease me about this.  
  
I heard Marie gasp, and then, “ _Jean!_ What did I tell you about your _language!?”  
  
_ I ducked my head then, clapping my hand over my mouth. “Shit, I’m sor- _Shit._ God, I’m so fucking sorry- _Shit—“_

“Jean, stop talking.” Marco turned to his sister. “Has he been saying bad words, Marie?”  
  
The little girl nodded her head almost enthusiastically so that her dark hair bounced, holding her hand up and wiggling her fingers. “Five times! Well, I lost count just now…” She glared down at her hands, slowly beginning to raise each one as she tried to recall every cuss word that I’d just said.  
  
“It’s nine now,” Marco murmured, saving her the trouble, and he placed his hand on her back to gently guide her away. “Go finish the rest of your cereal before the bus gets he-“ He froze mid-sentence, his eyes trained on _something_ in the kitchen… “Shit!”  
  
I squinted at him. “What is it-“  
  
“Marie, go get your shoes on! Quick!” Marco dove from his chair, the wood screeching loudly against the linoleum as he raced around his kitchen. Doing what, I didn’t fucking know—I couldn’t see shit except for what was right in front of the webcam.  
  
“But you said a bad word-!”  
  
“ _Marie,_ your bus will be here any second!”  
  
“Ha! You’re no better than me, Marco!” I taunted, yelling over the sound of cabinets slamming open and shut, Marco’s feet heavy and loud against the floor as he stomped through his house. I heard their front door burst open, soon followed by what vaguely sounded like the screams of small children and a car horn. A few minutes later, I heard the front door swing shut, and Marco stomped his way back to the computer, sitting back down in the chair.  
  
He was slightly flushed from the cold, his nose and cheeks and the tips of his ears a dull pink, and goose bumps littered his skin. I tried to keep my eyes off the, uh, _perkier_ aspects of him right then, but as far as my willpower goes, resistance was futile. I don’t think he noticed me staring, though.  
  
“Did you make the bus?” I asked, watching him shiver.  
  
“Yeah,” he said, “Just barely.” He reached toward his right, picking up Marie’s drawing again to study it carefully, his eyes scrunched up into a squint. “This is what you get for calling her ‘princess’, you know.”  
  
“Ahhg, come on, I’m just being nice!”  
  
He glanced up from over the paper, raising a brow at me. “You know what, Jean? I don’t think you really know what the difference is between flirting and just being nice.”  
  
My jaw dropped in surprise, opening and closing several times, words refusing to come. His accusation was completely ridiculous! “That’s not true!” I scoffed, folding my arms defensively over my chest, “I know what the difference is! And I am _not_ flirting with your little sister.”  
  
“Yeah,” he said with a roll of his eyes, “And that’s why she’s got a massive crush on you, right?”  
  
I groaned, slumping back in my chair and dragging my hands down my face. “What am I gonna do, man? I can’t reject a five-year-old!”  
  
Marco laughed at my dilemma, his chuckles loud and boisterous and heart-warming. “She’s seven,” he corrected, “And sure you can; didn’t you just tell me yesterday that you _hated_ little kids?”  
  
“Yeah, weeellll,” I began, remembering her pout and sniffles as she’d fought back tears, “I usually do! But, uh, Marie is the exception. I like her.”  
  
“You _must_ like her, to be flirting with her so much.”  
  
 _“Marco!”  
  
_ He erupted into more peals of laughter, and I scowled in response, not amused in the fucking slightest.  
  
“Okay, man,” he said, calming down, “But seriously. Just don’t worry about it. It’ll blow over, there’s no need to formally reject a little kid and make them cry. She’ll stop crushing on you soon enough. I think she’s just been a little boy-crazy lately.”  
  
“Already? Isn’t she a little young?”  
  
“Definitely too young for _you!”_ he laughed. “We actually went to the mall the other day, because she had to get a…. classmates…. secret….. school…. crowded……………….”  
  
I should have been trying so much harder to focus on whatever Marco was saying. I know. But he was distracted, and it was my chance to _really_ get a good eyeful of him, of his messy hair and bare shoulders and exposed chest and I _had_ to take advantage of that, didn’t I!? I know; I’m a fucking disgusting disgrace of a friend, instead of listening to him I ogle him and imagine what it’d be like to fuck the guy’s brains out, but… I really couldn’t help it… I don’t think. Before I knew it, I had zoned out completely, letting my eyes wander over the image of the young man on my screen. He was telling me some story about him and Marie going to the mall, I think, but the only thing on my mind was the way his brown eyes glanced away while he recalled his little story, and how his lips effortlessly worked around the consonants and vowels slipping from his mouth, and the smooth expanse of his neck— _fuck,_ he’d paused to swallow and I got to watch his adam’s apple bob in his throat, ugh. It got me thinking of how it would feel to pepper a thousand kisses across it, stopping to nibble softly at the crook of his neck. Or, you know what, fuck being soft; what about sucking viciously against his throat like I did in my dream, leaving pretty-as-fuck bruises all over the place, making him hiss and twitch his hips? What about slipping my thumbs along his hips and down into the ‘v’ of his lower stomach, hooking them in the waistband of his underwear, teasing along the dark trail of hair down there?  
  
 _“O-oh, Mm…. Jean,” Marco moans. His arms lift to wrap around my bare torso, the warmth of skin-on-skin making me shudder. I’m nibbling across his broad shoulders, groaning against him, my fingers slipping into his underwear.  
I pull at the waistband, letting his flushed cock spring upwards, fully erect, and he whimpers into my ear, high-pitched and breathless.  
  
_ Marco was so sweet and innocent, he’d surely be the submissive one, wouldn’t he? Shy and nervous…  
  
 _“Jean,” he sighs again, and I peek over to find that he’s blushing a beet red. I smirk at him, like, a really sexy smirk that he swoons over, and his cock twitches. I am sweeping this motherfucker off his goddamn feet.  
“Yeah, Marco?” I hum in this really deep, attractive voice. I am the master of seduction._

 _“Jean…. I need..”  
  
“Hmm? What do you need?”  
  
He whimpers again, then chokes out, “T-touch me… p-please..”  
  
Having a small amount of mercy, I pull his underwear further down, trailing one finger up along his hardened shaft, twirling around the head and mixing with the precome found there. He shudders and his hips buck, and when I look up at him, he’s biting his lip, eyes scrunched shut.  
“M-more…” he pleads. “…..Jean?..........”  
  
_ “Jean, are you, uh, o-okay?”   
  
I came crashing back down through the roof of reality, my stomach plummeting and eyes flying wide open. I sat up straight, pulse racing and face burning, my palms suddenly clammy. Marco was staring back at me, looking concerned and a bit red in the face, mouth hanging slightly open. _Fuuuuuuck me what did I do.  
  
_ “Sorry!” I apologized quickly, gulping down an over-abundance of oral fluids. Had I been _drooling?_ “Sorry, I, uh, I zoned out.” I reached back to scratch at the back of my neck, stretching and vaguely registering in the back of my mind that I was rock-fucking-solid right then. “I got distracted,, I guess…”  
  
“I-it’s okay,” he said, and I noticed that his voice was a tiny bit more high pitched than usual. “Just, uh… wh-what were you thinking about?”  
  
“Y-“ _WAS I REALLY ABOUT TO SAY ‘YOU’!? REALLY!?_ “-Uh…I-I-I-I, uh, j-just…” I had to think, had to think of something _fast,_ but I was no fucking good under pressure. “J-just my dream.”  
Why did I say that.  
  
“…The one you won’t tell me about,” he said slowly.  
  
I could _not_ look directly at him. My eyes were anywhere but on my screen—from down at my feet, over to the window, to the wall, my gaze flitting all over the place until I reminded myself that I had to _act cool_. I forced a smile, the muscles in my face suddenly tight and uncomfortable, and I dunno if it was convincing or not, but oh well.  
“Y-yeah,” I said. “Actually, I, uh, I’m feeling pretty tired. I didn’t get much sleep last night. So that’s why I’m not exactly acting like myself right now…”  
  
Marco nodded, lips pressed together into a thin line. He seemed pretty understanding. “Okay,” he said, “Uh, so why don’t you get off and go get some sleep?”  
  
 _Did Marco Bodt just tell me to get off!?_ I felt my eyes widen to an impossible degree, the fucking _beautiful_ image from my _perfect_ daydream returning to mind, and I felt my dick throb in my pants. Shit, son.  
  
“W-what did you just say?”  
  
 _What if he asks if he can help me get off. What if he offers to have skype sex. Oh my fucking god_ please _have skype sex with me, any kind of sex actually, just—please—  
  
_ “You know… Get off your computer and get some sleep. Since you’re so tired…?”  
  
As disappointed as I was, I did not weep. But my cock sure did. A fucking _lot._  
  
“Oh! Right, yeah.” I hoped he couldn’t see my spirits crashing down. Crashing and burning in confusion. I won’t tell the guy I’m in love with him, but somehow, I’m still giving myself false hope that he’s just gonna offer to whip his dick out over skype…. “That’s a great idea. I’m gonna go do that actually…”  
I reached over for my mouse, my dick begging to be touched, and I didn’t exactly have a lot of patience. “Bye, Marco.”  
  
“Uh, bye Jean. Call m-“  
  
 **Call ended.**

“Fuck,” I muttered, guilt washing through me as Marco’s sentence went unfinished. I quickly clicked into the chat box, typing away and ignoring my cock’s discomfort for the moment.  
  
 **Jean Valjean: shit! Sorry, I cut u off  
yeah ill call u  
later tho  
sorry for leaving so soon  
  
** His reply was quick.  
  
 **Marco Yolo: You don’t have to apologize  
It’s not like I’m your boyfriend, haha  
Get some sleep, Jean  
  
** My eyes zeroed in on that second message, my chest dully aching. Why did everyone feel the need to tell me this? Like, I was fully aware he wasn’t my boyfriend, I’m not fucking stupid. But constantly reminding me was like rubbing rock salt into a very deep, and very open wound, even _before_ I realized I loved him.  
I guess I’d loved him for longer than I thought.  
  
 **Marco Yolo: <3  
  
** _A heart!!! He sent me a heart! I mean, it’s lame and really dorky. But… maybe I should send one back…  
  
_ I deliberated a moment too long, because before I could send my own pathetic little ‘<3’, he was gone. Marco Yolo was officially offline.  
  
 _….Damn._  
  
Sighing softly, I went offline as well, sitting back in my roll-y chair and frowning to myself. The tent in my sweatpants was obnoxious, and although I wanted so fucking desperately to take care of it, I held myself back.  
I knew what I wanted to do. I knew I wanted to jack off to the thought of my best friend. _Right_ after getting off a skype call with him, too. I was disgusting, and shameless, and a pile of garbage, and a trash heap, and a piece of shit, and- _Ohhh, fuck.  
  
_ I’d reached down to palm myself through the soft fabric, biting my lip a bit at the mild friction. Poor, poor Marco. What kind of friend even was I? He was so innocent, and so fucking sweet, and all he wanted was an innocent friendship, and here I was, getting ready to pull up the ‘Mental Marco Spank Bank’. I am a fucking sham of a friend.  
  
 _But-_ I realized with a start, pausing with one hand wrapped around my raging-and-furious boner- _what if I just… masturbate to the thought of something that’s_ not _Marco?_ I mean, it made sense… yeah, he _was_ the one to turn me on something fierce, and yeah, he was _kind of_ the reason I needed to squirt my spooge ASAP, but if I didn’t jack it to him, it didn’t count, right? Our friendship would still be as wholesome and pure as always, yeah?

Pressing my lips together in a tentative, tight-lipped smile as I side-eyed the door to make sure it was still closed, I slowly slid my sweat pants down to my knees, boxer briefs and all. I just…. had to think of someone who wasn’t Marco. _Hella_ easy.  
  
Reaching forward, I snagged up the bottle of lotion from behind the computer monitor before leaning back in my roll-y chair, far enough back so that I could prop my feet up on the edge of my desk, legs spread wide and chair giving a rusty creak. Having my pants at knee-height, my legs were only able to stretch so far, but it was more than enough.  
There was a _‘snap’_ as I popped open the lotion bottle, loud in the otherwise silent room, and I quickly set about to lathering up my swollen-as-fuck cock, slick and wet and _fuuuck._ My eyes fluttered shut, a soft sigh escaping my lips as I worked my hand _slowly_ up and down my length, spreading the lotion evenly.  
  
 _Just… don’t think of Marco,_ I reminded myself, a soft shudder rolling through me as I paused to tease at my slit. _Don’t think of him touching you… think of… Mikasa?  
  
_ I scrunched my face up into an extremely unattractive scowl, trying to picture it.  
  
 _Nah… that’s not gonna work. It’s not as easy as it was in high school..._  
  
I bit my lip. _Think of your ideal girl… or guy, I guess…  
_ It started out pretty simple: I was in the mood for boobs or some shit I guess, so dream-girl had a nice rack. Dark hair, too. Big eyes. Brown. And a mouth that was wrapped around my dick.  
  
I threw my head back, picturing her kneeling between my thighs as my hand picked up the pace, speeding up, legs shaking and twitching. _Fuck_ it felt good. I imagined the girl licking up my length as I dragged my finger along it, her entire mouth enveloping me as I fisted my dick, squeezing and stroking….  
  
My breath came in quick pants and gasps, muscles tensing and relaxing in cycles. I’d somehow managed to slink down so far in my seat, feet clinging to the edge of my desk, that my ass was hanging in the air, balanced there, thighs quaking. That was when I noticed…. Fantasy girl had freckles.  
  
It was Marco kneeling there, mouth full with my cock, staring up at me with big, brown eyes. My dick was slick with _his_ spit, _his_ lips stretched tight around me--  
  
 _“MMph!!_ Marco- _ah!”_ Just the thought sent a wild jolt through me, my hips bucking up into my fist, and I was biting back moans of his name. _Someone else, someone else! Think of someone else, oh god-  
_ It was useless, my muscles tense and shaking with overwhelming pleasure, jolts of arousal coursing through me and making my cock twitch, precome coating my hand.  
  
The image from my dream came to mind. The image of Marco taking me in _deep,_ swallowing around me, and it was _so fucking vivid_ right in that moment that my hips gave a wild, uncontrollable jerk, legs kicking out, and the wheeled chair flew out from beneath me, dropping me right on my back with a dull _‘thud’._ Air flew right out of my lungs.  
  
My head knocked against one of the wheels, shouts of _“Fucking goddamn shit!”_ leaving my saliva-coated lips, but other than that, I didn’t stop. If anything, my hand sped up, desperate whimpers and gasps and moans spewing rapid-fire from my mouth. I threw my head back as a shout of Marco’s name left me, precome leaking _copiously_ over my hand and stomach and even dripping down to my balls. I sighed brokenly, “S-suck me off, f-fucking _swallow—_ nnng, M- _Marco!”_ I imagined him moaning around my cock, my head pressing to the back of his throat, and my eyes were rolling back, my toes scrunching up, my back tensed up into a _tight_ arch and I whimpered and--  
  
“M- _MARCO_ oh _fu-CK!”_  
  
I was coming harder than I’d had for a long, long while, white hot pleasure ripping through me as I tried to keep myself from screaming through it, and I could feel hot sticky strings of come shooting across my stomach and shirt. I pumped myself through my orgasm, milking myself dry, coming down slowly…..  
  
 _Marco popped off of my dick, wearing a lecherous grin as he licked the last few drops from his lips. I watched him crawl back up to me through heavily-lidded eyes, and he ducked in for a kiss.  
“Eww… gross,” I whined, turning my head to the side so as to avoid his oncoming lips.  
“I just sucked your dick,” he whispered, “You owe me a kiss.”  
This time, I didn’t pull away, letting his mouth mesh softly with mine.  
  
_ When I opened my eyes, he wasn’t there. I was alone in my room, hand wrapped around my soft cock and pants around my knees. I was lying on my bedroom floor, hand and stomach sticky with come.  
“Marco,” I whimpered quietly, letting go of my dick.  
  
Normally I feel fucking _great_ after an orgasm, especially one as strong as _that._ But this time, all I felt was regret. And loneliness. And a case of the cuddles with no one to cure it.  
  
My eyes slipped closed again, sticky hand falling to my side, heaving gasps gradually decreasing into the soft, deep breaths of sleep.  
  
 _Marco pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek before nuzzling into my neck, sighing. “I love you, Jean,” he whispered, warm breath washing over my skin. I lifted an arm to wrap around him, hugging him closer.  
  
_ “Mm…I…..loveya too…Marco…”

 

* * *

  
  
That whole week went by in a blur. _Kind_ of. I mean, it only went fast when me and Marco were talking, and that was almost the whole fucking time, so it went by pretty fast. We skyped nonstop, and when we couldn’t skype we talked on the phone, and when we couldn’t talk on the phone we texted. It was a rare moment when Marco and I weren’t talking to one another, and if I’d had my way, there wouldn’t even _be_ a rare moment.  
Actually, if I’d had my way, we wouldn’t even be _apart_. But I really couldn’t do much about that but count down the days…  
  
I went to bed with a ‘goodnight’ text, and woke up to a ‘good morning’, and more often than not there was a call history of at least four or five hours sandwiched in between. When I couldn’t see him, I could hear him, and when I couldn’t even do that, I read the words I _would_ be hearing if I still could. And when I couldn’t do any of that at all… I was miserable.  
  
I was learning what it was like to fall in love, I guess. Clinging to every single word he said, taking discrete screenshots during skype calls, craving him every moment of the day… Every romantically inclined person goes through that, yeah? When you’re trying to get used to the feelings of being in love, and you’re hyperaware of everything that person says and does and you’re so excited and euphoric you almost feel _high,_ and when they forget to hit the ‘send’ button on a text message for three hours you almost _die?_ Maybe I was being melodramatic, but I liked to think that everyone else went through it too. It would pass, I was sure; I’d adjust, my heart rate would slow, and loving him would become just another part of everyday mundane life. But right then, I was still falling.  
I was falling and praying every moment that Marco would be at the bottom, waiting to catch me.  
  
I would lose focus mid-crochet, smiling like a dope and blushing bright red because I was too busy fantasizing about kissing him. I would lie awake at night, wishing he were there to tangle up with, to hug, to just _touch._ I would stare blankly at the television as I comprised a mental list of all the best places in Trost to take Marco to on dates.And when Anita noticed me staring off into space once, she’d even asked “When’s the wedding?” and I was fucking _doomed._ I was stuck imagining tuxedos and bouquets and cakes and kisses and a _wedding night.  
  
It’s too early to be thinking of marriage! _ I chided myself, clapping a hand over my eyes. _Stop it.  
  
But Jean,_ brain-me whispered, _just think of the honey moon….  
  
Fuck.  
  
_ When he asked me to crochet a gift for him, my heart nearly melted. I’d make anything the guy asked for. Although, he _did_ keep referring to my crochet hooks as “needles” no matter _how_ many fucking times I corrected him, but that was a flaw I was willing to overlook.  Anything to make the guy happy.  
  
And that’s why, when my parents asked me to make the usual list of stuff I wanted for Christmas, I asked for _two_ 3DS’s.  
  
…I’ll admit that I felt a little guilty for not even buying it with my own money, but it was all the same either way: my own money _was_ my parents’ money. They sent me a monthly paycheck of several hundred dollars, and I’d never worked a day in my life. So yeah, spoiled rich kid buys his crush a Christmas gift with his parents’ money.  
Whatever. In the end, I didn’t care _how_ I got him it, I just wanted him to be the happiest he could be.  
  
I remember scribbling in angry sharpie across the side of the small box, _‘Don’t fucking open this until Christmas’,_ trying to imagine what kind of face he’d make when he opened it.  
  
 _Maybe he’ll instantly fall in love with me,_ I mused, capping my sharpie. I mean, I knew better than to think that Marco’s affections could be bought. But… a guy could dream, right?  
  
It wasn’t like I’d ever turn down an offer to be Marco’s sugar daddy.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
We set things up so that we could open up our presents together, over Skype. He’d received his present just in time, and I’d received a lightweight box from him in the mail a few days previous. It was almost like we were spending Christmas together, but not.  
  
On his end, it was a fucking _party._ Marie was a _hella_ paper shredder, I learned, as she quickly accumulated mountains of ripped wrapping paper in mere _seconds._ Their mother was a little camera-crazy, the flash making both Marco and I blink stars out of our eyes. Even Marco’s dad came over, although I didn’t even see his face really. I _definitely_ saw Marie though, she made sure of that.  
  
All the Christmas music, decorations and laughter on his end made my house seem very… cold, and lonely in comparison. No decorations were up, not a single one. My parents wouldn’t be home until evening. There wasn’t even a Christmas tree; except for the tiny, miniature one Anita had bought because it didn’t count. She’d placed it on a table in the downstairs sitting room, insisting I be the one to place the tiny little star on the top. Just like the days when my parents actually gave a fuck, and my dad would hoist me onto his shoulders so I could be the one to put the angel on the tree. Anita’d also made me cookies and hot chocolate, bless her heart; she tried to make things as Christmas-y as possible for me, despite how much I insisted that I didn’t really care.  
That was kind of a lie, though: I _did_ care. I cared enough to hate it, because the damned holiday was just an annual reminder of my nonexistent relationship with my parents.  
  
Either way, when it was just Anita and I in an utterly silent house compared to the lovable fiasco at the Bodt’s… I couldn’t help but feel lonely and disconnected.  
What I wouldn’t give to have been with Marco right at that moment.

  
“Hurry up and open your last gift!” he insisted, beaming and a little bit flushed in the face.  
Grinning, I plucked up the little box from beside the miniature tree, leaning forward to give Marco a better look at it through the webcam, my bony ass perched precariously on the edge of one of our cushy red recliners in the sitting room. I’d brought my laptop down and placed it on the coffee table, figuring that it’d be a waste of a Christmas tree to not open presents around it. When Marco saw the tiny thing, I’d been expecting him to make fun of it, call it wimpy or something. But instead he’d offered nothing more than a soft half-smile. “It’s cute,” he’d said.  
I was secretly pleased; had he insulted it, I might have been more bitter than was necessary. I shouldn’t be so defensive over a tiny, stupid Christmas tree, but I guess that the lack of Christmas in my life was still kind of a touchy subject.  
  
Marco watched with wide eyes as I began unwrapping the small package, eyebrows quirked up in mild curiosity. But when I pulled all the wrapping paper off, his mouth fell open with a quiet gasp before snapping shut into frown.  
“You’ve got to be kidding,” he whined as I showcased my present, obvious longing in his voice.  
  
I grinned at his reaction, reveling in his bitter envy; not because I enjoyed seeing him upset, but because I wanted to bring him low before he opened the gift from me. It was going to make his excitement and happiness just _that much sweeter_.  
“Aw, jealous, Bodt?” I teased.  
  
He chewed his lip and looked down, and I felt a dull twinge in my heart at that—shit, maybe I was rubbing it in a little too much? Ah, whatever, he’d be kissing my feet and the ground I walk on once he got to opening my gift, of that I was certain.  
  
The fact that he’d received little else for Christmas aside from new clothes, one of Marie’s stuffed animals, a shitload of candy and a few games for _my_ Xbox 360 didn’t really make me feel any better about shoving all my new shit down his throat, but that didn’t stop me from waving a stack of brand-spankin’-new 3DS games in front of the webcam, taunting him. I made sure that my copy of _Pokémon Y_ stood out from the rest.  
  
“Oh, if only there was someone I could trade Pokemon with,” I lamented, shooting him a cocky, lopsided grin. He pouted in response, and the urge to kiss that stupid look off his face was almost _crippling._ Thank god for distance.  
  
“Okay, shut up, just open up the present I got you,” he told me, and I was quick to comply, moving out of my webcam’s view to grab it. When I returned to my computer, I was nearly halfway through opening it, having ripped at the tape and cardboard as I walked.  
  
When I finally got it open, a stark black article of clothing was nestled in tissue paper, and I carefully lifted it from the box, unfolding it almost reverently. It almost came as a shock when I twisted it around to find big, blocky, white-against-black letters printed on the back.  
  
What I was holding was a thick, warm, oversized hoodie with the words _‘NO HOMO’_ splayed across the back. I could hear Marco snickering over skype as I took it all in.  
  
 _Ohh boy. Mikasa’s gonna tear me a new one.  
  
_ Speaking of ‘tear’, I was a little bit torn already; there in my hands was a special, irreplaceable Christmas gift from Marco. Something like that was completely _invaluable._ But at the same time… I’d told my friends I was done with the no homo shit. ‘No Homo’ was me being afraid to admit that I might not be straight. It was me _fighting_ with myself over and over because I was scared, and angry, and I wasn’t _supposed_ to be anything but straight. It was me refusing to progress and learn about myself, because I was afraid of what I didn’t know. It was me being confused. It was a lot of things, actually, and none of them good. It was a lighthearted way to deny being gay when my thoughts and words and actions said otherwise, but only on the surface. Underneath, without realizing it, it had been much more.  
Did I _want_ to walk around with my own big, fat mistake plastered onto my back for every fucking person in the whole fucking world to see!? No, not really, but I really did deserve it.  
  
I also _really_ wanted to wear this huge, comfy hoodie that Marco had gotten just for me. After all, Marco didn’t know. It was just him poking fun at some stupid phrase I said from time to time. He still thought I was straight as a board.  
  
Hilarious how the second I accept that I’m not actually full hetero, I get a hoodie that says ‘no homo’.  
  
“This is incredibly ironic,” I muttered to myself, pulling the hoodie over my head.  
  
“Sorry if it’s a little big,” Marco said. “I didn’t want to get it too small, and I didn’t know your size, so I just bought _my_ size.”  
  
I felt my stomach flip-flop at that. The hoodie was _his_ size. Why did that excite me so much?  
  
I tried to keep my scowl on, not wanting to give away how pleased I really was, but a tiny smile slipped out anyway. “Thanks, Marco,” I mumbled, snuggling deeper into my Marco-sized hoodie. I could’ve probably held a circus in that thing, it was so big.  
  
“Y-you’re welcome,” he stuttered.  
  
“Now open up the present _I_ got you!” I urged, placing my chin in my hands, elbows on my knees. I watched with wide eyes as he grabbed for the little box to his right, my handwriting scrawled on the side. I couldn’t keep the grin off my face as I watched him pry the box open, tearing at the tape in frustration.  
  
When he finally got it open, his jaw dropped, eyes wide and bright and glistening.  
  
“No way…” he breathed, and I watched him sift through the box with shaking fingers, no doubt digging through the games I’d sent him as well.  
  
“You ready to be a Pokémon master, or what?” I said.  
  
He didn’t answer. Instead, he just kept glancing down at the box in his hands and back up at me, mouth still ajar and eyes still wide. It started to scare me, actually… I’d expected a much more obvious reaction, like, let’s say, _“Thank you so much, Jean!”_ or _“I love you, Jean!”_ or _“Marry me, Jean!”  
_  
“Hey… uh, you okay?” I asked. “You did want that, right? I just thought… you know, we could play together, and-“  
  
“I could kiss you right now.”  
  
 _OR THAT. Yes that response works nicely.  
_  
I was fucking _stunned,_ mouth open wide as I stared in shock back at him. Was my heart still beating? Was I even breathing? _He could kiss me right now. He could FUCKING kiss me right now, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god-_  
  
“I-I mean, you know, i-it’s just a saying, for when a person’s really happy, a-and grateful,” he stuttered, flushing _profusely._ “N-not like I’d actually _kiss_ you, w-we’re just friends, s-so..”  
  
And just like that, my spirits plummeted, my heart stuttering slowly back to life in my chest. I snapped my mouth shut and gave a small nod, wanting more than anything to pout and mope and take a long, long nap to commemorate this overwhelming disappointment. Instead, I forced out a tight-lipped smile.  
  
“I know what you mean, relax,” I reassured him. It was only a saying, and I knew that, and it was my fault for jumping the gun and getting my own hopes up. Trying to play along, I jokingly added, “It’s not like I’d let you kiss me anyway.”

“Well I wouldn’t want to kiss you in the first place, so…”

 _FUCKING ow._ That really hurt me, and I prayed to any god out there that I hadn’t winced in literal pain. I never knew that heartache was an actual, physical thing until I met Marco Bodt.  
  
Marco clapped a hand over his mouth, then laughed behind it. Like it was a _fucking_ joke. I mean, it was, wasn’t it? So why did it hurt so much? Why did I find myself wanting to curl up and claw the hollow ache right out of my chest?  
  
“A-anyway,” he continued, dropping his hand away from his mouth, “Thank you so much, Jean. This is amazing, and I don’t think I can thank you enough.” He was smiling fondly at me, and the pain in my chest ebbed away. For now.  
“It’s nothing,” I said, blushing and burrowing deeper into my new hoodie.  
“Your present is so much better than the one I got you, though,” Marco complained, looking shamefully down at his feet.  
“Hey!” I scowled. “Don’t start that. You know it’s easier for me to get things like that than you.” My scowl melted away, then, and I said softly, “Besides… I uh, I really like this hoodie you got me.”  
  
We stayed on that skype call for the next few hours, just talking and enjoying one another’s company. Mrs. Bodt was sure to say hi and wish me a Merry Christmas, and Marie showed off all her loot for me, trying on each and every new dress she’d received and modeling them. Each time, I scored her a solid 10/10. Anything else would have been an injustice, and would have probably made her upset. I did not want Marie Bodt to be upset.  
  
I was loathe to hang up that morning. I was trying to leach all the joy and Christmas cheer and other holiday bullshit from Marco’s end of the call, knowing that this skype call was all the holiday cheer I was going to get. And seeing Marco so happy, smiling and laughing and blushing, was going to be the death of me. He was too cute, and I found myself wishing I was there, just so I could pepper his face in kisses. Sadly, he soon had to hang up and help his family prepare lunch, which he simply referred to as “The 24 Hour Christmas Bodt Feast”. Supposedly, the meal didn’t end for 24 hours.  
  
“I have to go eat,” he said, grinning sheepishly at me. “I’ll call you later, alright? Merry Christmas, Jean.”  
  
“Alright,” I said softly. And with the gentlest, most sincere smile I could muster, I said, “Merry Christmas, Marco.”  
  
He ended the call.  
  
The cold, unforgiving silence of my house felt ten thousand times worse than usual. There was no Christmas music, no decorations, no family members milling about to prepare a massive feast. It was me, and a tiny Christmas tree, and a mountain of wrapping paper, and a no homo hoodie.  
  
 **From: Marco  
We should spend Christmas together one day  
  
** I smiled sadly at the text message.  
  
 **To: Marco  
yeah. hows next year sound?  
  
From: Marco  
Perfect! :D  
  
**

* * *

  
  
Christmas dinner. Sounds like fun, yeah? Food, family….whatever else Christmas dinners are meant to entail…  
  
For my parents, it was just another awkward obligation they set aside for their son. It was time to play Family again. But for me, it was just a pain in the ass.  
  
I wished Anita could’ve been there at least, so that the whole thing wouldn’t have been so awkward. But just like every year, she had her own family to spend the holidays with. Not like I blamed her, I mean, she had a _real_ family to spend time with, instead of the broken one she worked for.  
Nah, it was just me and my parents, sitting at a table full of food that Anita and I had cooked together. My parents sat at one end of the table, and I sat at the other. This probably wouldn’t have been such a big deal if our dining room table weren’t four yards long.  
  
“Jean, can’t you sit a little closer?” my mom asked.  
  
“I’m in the same room as you guys, isn’t that good enough?” came my bitter reply, and she dropped the subject.  
  
My mom was a stout woman, having gained a bit of weight in her old age, and her long brown hair was usually up in a ponytail. But for Christmas I guess, she wore it down, her hair curled and wavy. Candy cane earrings poked out from her curls, and she wore a matching sweater with peppermint designs on it. Next to her was my father, a tall man, kind of lanky for his age, and thinning mouse brown hair. The most he was wearing was suit pants and a crisp dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Not Christmas-y at all, but definitely formal.  
  
I, on the other hand, was wearing jeans and the sweater Anita had made me for Christmas. I didn’t really see the point in dressing up any more than that. None of my friends dressed up for dinner with their families, not even Christmas ones, so why the fuck should ours be any different?  
  
It was a quiet dinner. Very little was said. The air was mostly punctuated by the sounds of silverware on glass as we dug into the ham and turkey and cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie and a shitload of other food. It was entirely too much for just us three, and would probably all last at least a month.  
  
They tried to ask about college. Ask about any friends I’d made. How my classes were. I answered as plainly as I could get away with; it’s good, a few, they’re fine. And then they’d fall back into silence again, seemingly giving up on dinner conversation. Until…  
  
“Got a girlfriend?” my dad asked. The hopeful gleam in his eye made my stomach turn.  
  
“No.”  
  
He grimaced, returning to his food. “Shame,” he said. “When you find a pretty girl to marry, bring her home to meet us, yeah?”  
  
I didn’t answer.  
  
“Whatever happened to Mikasa?” my mom asked. “She was so pretty and polite; didn’t she go to Trost University too, along with those Eren and Armin boys?”  
  
I nodded around my mouthful of food, chewing slowly so I wouldn’t have to speak.  
  
With a tut, she shook her head and cut into her slice of ham. “Such a shame you two broke up…. I know you were pretty heartbroken over that…”  
  
“What about you and Hitch?” My dad asked. “You two ever go out? I was sure you did…”  
  
“No,” I grumbled, looking down at my plate. “She tried to recruit me into her all-girls neighborhood basketball gang when we were like, thirteen…”  
  
“Well that’s _kinda_ like going out, right? Eh?”  
  
I just shook my head at him, and his smile fell.  
  
“Why do you guys keep talking about things that happened a million years ago?” I asked.  
  
My mother frowned, setting her silverware down. “You don’t talk to us anymore. Stuff that happened years ago is all we know about you.”  
  
 _It’s not like you guys are ever around to talk to anyway…_  
  
Trying to rectify the conversation, my dad spoke up again. “Well….that’s alright,” he said. “Hitch turned out to be a lesbian, anyway.”  
  
I choked on my food. “W- _what?”  
  
_ “I know,” he said, “I was just as shocked as you when I heard. Her parents are absolutely _livid._ They complain about her girlfriend _nonstop_ at work, I tell ya…”  
  
“Such a shame,” my mom said. “She’s so pretty—she could have married any man she wanted to, I bet.”  
  
“W-well, I mean,” I paused to cough and swallow, “Now she can marry any _girl_ she wants… yeah?”  
  
“Don’t be silly,” my mom said with a wave of her hand, “Girls can’t marry girls. Not in _this_ state, really.”  
  
I was trying _so_ fucking hard not to show it, but this conversation had taken a hella uncomfortable turn for me. I was practically sweating where I sat, scowling around the room and down at my lap, refusing to make eye contact with them.  
  
“It’s probably just a phase,” my dad said. “She could grow out of it in a few years, settle down with a nice young man, take over her parents’ company…”  
  
“Just like you want _me_ to do, right?”  
  
I could feel both pairs of eyes on me, my own gaze trained downward, fork clenched tightly in my fist.  
  
“Yes! Just like that,” my mother said, and the excitement in her voice made my skin crawl. “Just sans the ‘settling down with a nice young man’, I guess. You’d want a woman, wouldn’t you?”  
  
It was a rhetorical question. More of a statement than a question, actually, and if I didn’t have to answer then I sure as fuck wasn’t going to. She wasn’t accusatory. She wasn’t controlling. She just… _assumed._ Assumed that I’d end up married to some beautiful girl, take up the company they’d worked so hard to keep afloat. It was _expected,_ you know? It was an expectation I was already halfway failing to meet. And just the way they talked about Hitch, and her parents…..  
  
 _If they found out, would they react the same way?  
  
_ I set my silverware down, clattering onto my plate. “May I be excused?” I rasped.  
  
Silence. The sounds of silverware against china ceased, and I looked up to see that they’d stopped mid-chew. My mother swallowed, and was the first to speak.  
  
“You haven’t even finished your food,” I pretended not to see the hurt in her eyes.  
  
“’M not hungry.”  
  
“Jean, you want to leave Christmas dinner early?” my dad said. “This only happens once a year! How often are the three of us together for a meal!?”  
  
I sighed, chewing on my lip as I scooted my chair back. “There’s always next year.”  
  
My parents stared at me, dumbfounded, as I stood up and turned to leave the room. I just had to get out of there. I couldn’t fucking _breathe._ I felt utterly and completely nauseated.I hoped against hope that they couldn’t see my shaking hands, or my trembling knees, fear rolling over me in waves. Fear of myself, fear of disappointment, fear that I would probably always be the biggest fuck up the Kirschtein family had ever _seen_ —because I loved a guy. Because I still had the nightmares. Because I continually hurt my parents by pushing them away.  
An easy solution would be to people-please. To turn around when my mom begged me to _please_ , come back to the table, come eat with us, _please._ Actually try and make conversation.  
  
But when you’ve got secrets to keep, secrets that would make your own fucking parents ashamed of you, it’s just so much easier to not talk to them than it is to lie through your teeth about who you really are. At least, that’s how it is for me. So I kept walking. And I opened the door to the hallway. And before the door closed behind me, I heard my father say, “Merry Christmas, Jean.”  
  
I didn’t say anything back.  


* * *

  
“You should really just leave them alone, though…”  
  
I paused to shift the phone from one ear to the other, rolling my stiff shoulder and cracking my neck. “No!” I shouted into the receiver. “Come on, Marco, you’re supposed to take _my_ side, Connie bugs me about my love life all the time, it’s only fair!”  
  
“Yeah, but Sasha doesn’t deserve it, does she? Besides, they’ll figure things out on their own. Give them some space.”  
  
I sighed. “Whatever… they can be stupid about their own relationship if they want.” I stretched my legs out along the couch I was lounging on, 3DS in hand, phone held between my ear and shoulder. Marco and I had been on the phone that day for about a few hours. Which, in Marco time, felt like only a few minutes. “Me, though? I’d be smart about it. Not hella dense, like they are right now.”  
  
Marco hummed into the receiver, his voice buzzing against my ear. “Actually… Jean, for some reason, those words don’t sound right when they’re coming out of your mouth.”  
  
“What are you trying to say!?” I yelped, my scowl hardening. “I’m not dense! I’m actually _incredibly perceptive_ when it comes to people.”  
  
“I’m sure you are,” he said, and I nodded appreciatively. He continued, “Anyway, what’re you doing for New Year’s Eve?”  
  
“Ugggghhhh,” I groaned, watching as my little Pokémon trainer ran around the little 3DS screen. “My parents always throw a party over here at the house. For business purposes, I guess. They’re always lame as fuck, though, I hate ‘em. My parents always try to set me up with the daughters of their various business partners, it’s awful.”  
  
“Ah, so you’re _not_ looking forward to meeting any hot chicks at your parents’ New Year’s party?”  
  
“Fuck no. I just want these fourteen days to be gone already…”  
  
I’d said it without even realizing, my head in the game (Pokémon game, to be exact) but when Marco went silent, calculating what I’d just said, I realized my mistake. Fuck.  
  
“Are you… counting down the days until we get back?” he asked, hesitant.  
  
 _FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK._  
I nearly choked on my own spit, words refusing to come, and I spluttered awkwardly into the phone. “What!? No! Yes… n-not really! Just a little bit? B-because I am _not_ counting down the days until I see you, that’d be g-gay, which I am not, I j-just… ah _fuck me,_ it’s only becau-“  
  
“Jean!” Marco interrupted, and I paused, mouth still open. “Jean, relax. It’s okay to admit that you miss me, you know.”  
  
He still wasn’t suspicious of me? Even though I had a countdown on my phone that informed me of the _exact_ amount of time until I would see him again (13 days 20 hours 58 minutes and 4 seconds)? “Y-yeah…?”  
  
“Mmhmmm… I miss you too.,” he murmured, and my stomach dropped. I wanted to fucking _squeal_ for joy, I wanted to jump up and down, I wanted to…. I wanted to fucking vomit because he can’t fucking know how desperate I was to suck his face off, holy _shit._  
  
 _Don’t do it. You’re better than that. You both miss each other. It’s normal. Relax. Don’t say it. I swear to fucking god, Kirschtein, don’t-  
  
_ “B-but, no homo though…”  
  
 _You fucking coward._  
  
There was a brief moment of silence on his end, and I took the opportunity to smack at my forehead, mentally berating myself for every single mistake I’d ever made in my entire fucking life. _  
  
_“Aw,” Marco murmured, “not even a little homo?”  
  
This was my chance. It was divinely-inspired, a god-sent second chance at owning up to my own bullshit. I took a deep breath, my heart thrashing about wildly in my ribcage, and I said it. “M… maybe a little.”  
 _I… am the fucking bravest man on this earth.  
  
_ “W-what was that?” Marco asked, his voice nasally and high-pitched.  
  
“N-n-nothing, I-I said nothing… H-have you caught any shinys yet?”  
  
“Oh!” I could hear the sound of him turning on his 3DS. “Actually, I haven’t really…”  
I was counting my lucky stars that Marco had taken the bait, because if he’d grilled me for anymore answers about being a little homo, I probably would’ve fainted. I wasn’t a little homo—I was big, big homo, at least for Marco I was.  
From there, the conversation turned to Pokémon, and he told me all about his team and what Pokémon he wanted to catch and also numerous “thank you, thank you, thank you”s because Marco Bodt does not know how to accept a gift that was worth over the maximum limit of three dollars without offering you his soul in return.  
“If I kick your ass in a Pokémon battle when we get back to school, will you stop thanking me every two words?”  
“Definitely!” he squeaked (aw, cute). “Mm, that reminds me. So, I’ve been thinking…”  
  
“Yeah?” I murmured, mentally banishing all tall grass to hell as I ran into a wild Pokémon. “What’chu been thinkin’ about?”  
  
“The new semester is starting and all that, right?”  
“Yeah? Shit, motherfucker got paralyzed…”  
“Jean, are you even listening?”  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m listening!” I reassured. “What’s up?”  
“Anyway, I was saying, you know that you could switch dorms at the start of the semester, right?”  
“……..”  
He cleared his throat. “So… wouldn’t it be easier for both of us if you moved into my room? You’re kind of my roommate already, in a way…”  
  
It felt like every muscle in my body had seized up, and I was frozen there on the couch. Moving in… with Marco? Holy _shit_ did I want to. I wanted to live with Marco. I wanted to live with him for the rest of my fucking _life,_ but that may have just been my melodramatic side talking. I wanted to sleep next to him every single night without having to walk halfway across the whole fucking campus. I really did! But…  
How the fuck was I supposed to keep him from knowing about my disgusting crush on him if I was living with him? Sleeping in his bed every night? And when he _did_ know, whenever I finally got around to telling him…  
I didn’t want to keep him trapped in an awkward situation like that. I couldn’t do that to Marco.

“You weren’t listening, were you?” he sighed.  
“N-no, I heard you.”  
“You did? So what do you think?”  
“I-I think… m-maybe I shouldn’t.”  
A pause. I think I heard him swallow. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean,” I said slowly, taking another deep breath, “I don’t think… that you’d want me to move into your room with you..”  
  
“Jean, that’s stupid, of course I want you to move in with me! Why wouldn’t I?”  
  
“Marco, look, I have my reasons, okay?”  
  
“You _have your reasons,”_ he repeated, his tone accusatory. “Does this have anything to do with…” he paused to lower his voice, “the thing you won’t tell me about?”  
  
“No!” I yelped. “Well actually… I mean, yeah, it does.”  
  
“I thought…. You said I didn’t do anything wrong.” He sounded sad. And hurt.  
  
 _Hurt…  
  
_ “Marco! No, that’s not it! How many times do I have to tell you it’s not your fault, dude? You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong, so relax.”  
  
“Then why-“  
  
“Do I really have to break out the cliché, ‘ _It’s not you, it’s me’_ bullshit? This is a _personal problem,_ Marco, and I’ll tell you eventually, but for now you just have to let me deal with it on my own, alright?”  
  
“I just… I don’t understand,” he mumbled. “How does your personal problem keep you from moving in with me?”  
  
“It just does,” I said. “And when I tell you, you’ll thank me, yeah?”  
“No, _not_ yeah, because I don’t believe I will. But I’ll take your word for it. For now…”  
“Thanks, Marco.”  
“Just think about it, alright?” he said. “You’ve got two weeks to think it over.”  
“Y-yeah, alright, I’ll think about it.”  
  
Just then, Marco let out this airy moan, and I jerked forward, sitting up straight so that my 3DS slid off my stomach and onto the floor. I listened intently, nearly holding my breath so I could better hear the nasally keen he let out, and I felt a rush of blood head south.  
  
“W-what was that!?” my voice cracked.  
  
He sighed again, and I was suddenly bombarded with mental images of Marco, his eyes closed, bottom lip held between his teeth, one hand holding the phone to his ear, the other wrapped around his-  
  
“Mpf… I’m jus’ stretching,” he mumbled, before adding a “ _Ahh-n”_ and my hand flew to my crotch.  
  
“Why?” he asked.  
  
“ _Ah…_ ” I sighed, my cock already half hard from the mental imagery. “Oh, _fuck.”  
  
_ “Uh… what’s wrong? Is everything alright?”  
  
 _He was just stretching, just stretching, it was innocent, stop touching yourself, you’re fucking SHAMELESS Jean, stop!  
  
_ “No, I-I, I gotta go,” I said, ignoring my screaming conscience, “I’ll talk to you later. Bye Marco.”  
  
“What!? Well, alright. Bye Jean.”  
  
I hung up as fast as I could, throwing my phone down on the couch and palming roughly at my cock through my jeans. Biting back a groan, I replayed Marco’s moans in my mind, gasping at the way the memory made my dick twitch.  
The sounds Marco had made, so close to my ear—it was impossible to get them out of my head. It stuck to my thoughts, clinging to every memory and fantasy I had of him until everything was just a jumbled mess of ‘ _I gotta get off, I gotta get off to Marco, oh my god I gotta get off’._ Those little, insignificant noises had been more real than any of my dreams and fantasies of the guy _ever_ were, and the fact that he could turn me on so much just by moaning into my ear over the phone was fucking _embarrassing,_ but I didn’t care. I didn’t fucking care, I was just desperate for some relief.  
  
Lying back on the couch, I unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, hastily shoving my hand into my underwear to squeeze my cock, and I bit back a moan of my own. No one was in the house anyway, so if I could get away with jerking it in the sitting room, then I fucking would.  
  
I shoved my pants and underwear down my thighs, dick springing free, and not wasting any time, I wrapped my hand around my dick and slowly stroked it, pausing to thumb at the slit and letting my eyes flutter closed. Guilt and shame overwhelmed me as I imagined what it might have been like if Marco _had_ been masturbating on the phone. What if I joined him. Told him how I’d want to fuck him.  
  
 _“Fuuuuck”,_ I groaned, giving my dick a quick tug, precome leaking from the tip. More and more images came to mind, my hand speeding up; images of Marco splayed beneath me, his hair messy, his face flushed, eyes glazed over. Images of Marco with his head between my thighs, face pressed against my cock, brown irises gazing up at me. Images of Marco with my fingers tangled in his hair, come dribbling from his lips and down his chin. Images of Marco straddling my lap, his head thrown back and chest flushed, bruises spotting his neck, my hands gripping his hips as I thrust roughly up into him and his lips falling open on a cry.  
  
I couldn’t focus on just one. I wanted it all. I wanted to do everything with him. I wanted to do everything _to_ him.  
  
My heels dug into the cushions, toes curling as I arched my back; my hips bucked and twitched as I fucked up into my hand, fingers slick with precome, and I bit down on a knuckle, moaning and gasping around it. _  
  
I’m so sorry, Marco,_ I managed to think through the haze of Marco-crazed lust, _I’m sorry bud. I’m fucking trash. I’m terrible and disgusting. I can’t stop.  
  
_ My eyes were rolling back into my head as I gasped and moaned loudly in the otherwise silent house, sobbing brokenly while my hand stroked my swollen, precome-slick cock, lewd and wet noises ringing out.  
  
With a final cry, hips raised off the couch and feet digging into the cushions as my body seized up into a massive arch, I came all over myself. I pumped myself through my orgasm, whimpering as the last little bit dribbled and spurted out, and when I finally relaxed and laid back down, I threw an arm over my eyes in shame.  
  
I was fucking terrible. I came hardest when I fantasized about my best fucking friend.  


* * *

  
  
I fucking hated suits. I mean, I look _awesome_ in them. Sexy as hell. Irresistible.  
  
But man, they were annoying. I hated the feeling of the crisp collar and tie constricting around my neck, and the jacket was a pain in the ass. Not to mention, suits were just not my style. A little too formal for me.  
  
Either way, my parents still made me wear them at their stupid parties.  
  
Our house was a little too crowded for my comfort; I mean, our house is three stories tall plus fully furnished basement complete with pool table, flat screen TV and bar, but it still has its limits. People were _everywhere._ People in fancy dresses and tuxedos and suits with their little martini glasses and champagne and vodka—everywhere I looked, _people._ Now usually I’d be all over that alcohol because my parents really didn’t give a fuck if I was under age, but I just wasn’t feeling it. I spent most of the night hovering around the food and in remote corners of the house, avoiding my parents, but also everyone else. All anyone at those parties ever did was gossip and make small talk and business arrangements, all of which I held no interest in. So instead I turned to my phone, trying to call Marco, someone I actually had an interest in talking to, but over and over again, he never failed to pick up. Not like I could blame him, really; it was New Year’s Eve, he was probably partying it up with his own family.  
  
As hard as I tried to dodge my folks, they still managed to pluck me out of the crowd on multiple occasions, pushing me into conversations with any girls around my age they could find. It had gotten to the point that I’d actually yelled at my mother to “Fucking stop it and leave me alone,” in the middle of the fucking living room after she’d shoved a gaggle of giggling girls at me. And everything had gone dead silent, as expected. New gossip about the Kirstcheins to go around, can’t really pass that up, I guess.  
  
“I’m just trying to be helpful!” my mother had said. “I care about you, I just want you to be happy! I’m _trying_ to make you happy-“  
  
“My love life isn’t any of your business, and you’re not helping!” I’d yelled before storming up the stairs. I could vaguely hear my mom apologizing profusely for my behavior to the girls and other party guests, and I picked up on words like “he’s always been such a problem child.”  I ripped my jacket off before stomping into the study and slamming the door behind me, throwing it to the floor and breathing heavily through my nostrils.

The study was a welcome change of scenery. It was quiet, dark, empty…. in a section of the house that was off limits to the rest of the guests, thank god. It was a relatively large-sized room with bookshelves lining the walls, two couches and a coffee table on one end of the room and a large desk and cushy red chair on the other. A break in the bookshelves revealed thick, dark curtains, and I pulled them back to unveil the set of glass doors that led out to the balcony. The balcony was suspended over our garden, and would have an excellent view of the fireworks at midnight. I didn’t even know if I cared to watch the fireworks that year, really, but I was glad to be alone at least.  
  
The door clicked open, and I froze.  
  
“Hey, problem child.”  
  
Hitch.  
  
I turned around, glaring at her in the dark, door closing slowly behind her. She was wearing a glittering green dress that hugged her curves yet flared out around her knees. Her skin was pale, frizzy blond hair cut short, and her cat-like eyes shown in the dark. She strode toward me across the room on tall, silver heels, and I vaguely registered that her toenails were painted to match her dress.  
  
“What do you want…”  
  
“I just came to say hello.” She was wearing her characteristic cartoonish grin, the one that seemed to stretch eerily from one ear to the other, and before I knew it we were standing toe to toe, one of her small hands grabbing at my tie and yanking me down.  
  
I pulled away.  
  
“What are you doing?” I sneered. “You’ve got a girlfriend.”  
  
“Oh!” She released my tie. “So you know! I’m glad. Although it sounds like if I wasn’t taken, you’d be completely open to my advances.” Her voice was high-pitched, nasally, and it scraped along my eardrums. I’d grown accustomed to it over the years, so I’d stopped shuddering at the sound long ago.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Ah. Shame.” She then pressed the tip of her finger to the center of my chest, and being a fucking dumbass, I actually looked down. Her finger came up to snub at my nose. She laughed and I scowled.  
  
“Fuck off.”  
  
“Come on, you’ve gotten more gullible than I remember!”  
  
“Cut me some goddamn slack, I haven’t seen you in a while.”  
  
“Aww, sounds like you missed me!”  
  
“I didn’t.”  
  
Hitch stepped away from me to shoulder her way through the curtains, opening up the balcony doors and stepping out into the frigid air over our backyard. I followed her, idle and absentminded.  
  
“Your parents haven’t changed. Still trying to hook you up with pretty girls at business parties.” Her words floated away from her in a cloud of vapor, breath hot in the freezing air as she leaned over the railing. Goosebumps were raised along her fair skin, her arms bare. I walked forward to stand next to her.  
  
“What’s the actual reason you’re here? You got something to say?” I asked. From the side, I watched her grin spread across her face, but she didn’t turn her head to face me. She just kept facing forward.  
  
“I forgot how much you suck at small talk,” she said. Her smile softened.  
“….Just wondering some things. Like what you think about me having a girlfriend.” Her voice had actually gone soft for once, and that in itself was a rare thing.  
  
I shrugged. “Interesting, I guess. Can’t say I mind. Not really my business to mind, y’know?”  
  
She nodded, licking her lips. “And your parents? Did they say anything?”  
  
“Well how else do you think I know,” I said. “They didn’t exactly have great things to say about it. ‘It might be a phase’. ‘What a shame’. Shit like that.”  
  
“That’s what everyone seems to be saying,” she growled. “Though I think _your_ parents are just a little bitter because they wanted me to marry you.”  
  
“What!?”  
  
“You really didn’t know? They think we’d be happy together.” She let out an ear-piercing bark of laughter, and this time I couldn’t suppress my shudder.  
  
“Too bad you like girls then, huh?”  
  
“Yeah… ‘too bad’. For _you.”_ She turned to throw me an eerie grin, and I smirked back. Years ago I probably would be cussing her out by now. Years ago, she kicked my ass on the _daily._ But now, we just agree to disagree and move on. Throw a few snide remarks at each other and call it a day.  
  
“Hey,” I said. “Mind if I ask a personal question?”  
  
“I’m not about to stop you.”  
  
“How long have you known? That you prefer girls, I mean.”  
  
The smile slid from Hitch’s features, replaced with a blank stare trained in my direction. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to remember, or if she was silently analyzing me, wondering why I would ask such a question. I shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.  
  
“I don’t think there was a time when I _didn’t_ know,” she finally said, snapping her head around to face forward again, her hair bouncing in place. “I mean, when I learned there was a word for it and that everyone else around me was _different_ and _‘straight’,_ I just kinda... didn’t say anything. Especially when I found out my parents ‘disagreed with that lifestyle’, as they say. Fucking disgusting,” she sneered. “Why do you ask?”  
  
I swallowed, shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my suit pants, shivering just a bit in the cool air. “U-uh… no reason.” Hitch turned to fix me with another stare—this one, a knowing smile.  
  
“Uh-huh, sure,” was all she said.  
  
“W-was it hard, coming out?”  
  
“What do you _think,_ Jean? If it took me this long to come out and say it, what do you fucking think?”  
  
I winced at that. “’S just a question. Geez.”  
  
“It was hard, but so far it’s been worth it.” Hitch stood up straight, backing away from the edge of the balcony and click-clacking her way back inside. I turned to watch.  
  
“It’s just good to know I didn’t lose another friend for being a lesbian,” she called over her shoulder.  
  
“We weren’t friends to begin with,” I grinned.  
  
“Sure we weren’t.”  
She pulled the study door open and walked out into the bright hallway, her hips swaying just a bit. She paused in the doorway. “I’m glad you stopped slicking your hair back at these parties, by the way! That was a fucking nightmare.”  
And then she was gone, the door clicking shut softly behind her. I was shrouded in silence again. Alone at last.  
  
 _“What does the fox say!? Ring-ding-ding-ding-ding-“  
  
_ I nearly jumped out of my fucking _skin._ “Fuck, shit!”  
  
I scrambled to find my phone, digging through my pockets as that wretched music blasted around the room, and when I finally found it, I couldn’t hit ‘answer’ fast enough.  
  
“Hey,” I said.  
  
“Hey, Jean? What’s up?”  
  
“Nothing really.” I turned back around to lean over the balcony’s railing. “I… I guess I was just bored and wanted to talk to you for a bit. Sorry… were you busy? You can go back to whatever you were doing…”  
  
“Oh, no, it’s fine,” he said. “I needed to take a break anyway.”  
  
I squinted. “A break from what? What’re you doing for New Year’s?”  
  
“I’m at my dad’s tonight!” he said, voice laced with enthusiasm. I smiled at the sound of it. “We’ve been having this karaoke contest, to see who can sing the worst and loudest. You should _hear_ all the insults people are yelling at us. Some of the things they say could rival even _your_ colorful vocabulary. But yeah, right now, Dad’s in the lead. Someone said he sounds like a vomiting whale. Kinda tough to beat.”  
  
I laughed aloud at that, small bursts of fog and vapor leaving my mouth. “Aw, man, I actually wish I could be there right now!”  
  
“Yeah, you’d probably win.”  
  
“What!? I will have you know that I’ve got an _excellent_ singing voice.”  
  
“Do you really?” he asked. “For some reason, I don’t think I believe you.”  
  
“I’ll prove it to you! Watch, when we get back to school, I’ll sing for you and you can tell me how awesome I am at it.”  
  
He hummed into the receiver. “I think I’d like that,” he said. “I’m holding you to that, by the way, so don’t forget.”  
  
“I won’t forget.” _In fact, I’m even looking forward to it._ “You’ll be eating your words, Bodt,” I added. “I’ve been told my singing voice can make anyone fall in love with me.” I chewed my lip, imagining how romantic it’d be if I were to actually win him over by singing. Whatever gets it done, I guess.  
  
“So what are _you_ doing for New Year’s?” Marco asked. “Aren’t you at your parent’s business house party thing?”  
  
“Yeah, and it sucks just as much as every other party they’ve thrown here. All the chicks down there are tipsy on champagne, and all anyone wants to ask me about down there is my future.”  
  
“Why do you act like tipsy girls are a _bad_ thing?” he laughed.  
  
“Because! I grew up with these girls, Marco! I’m not interested in any of them…”  
  
“I see… so what, you’re just avoiding the party?”  
  
“Yeah,” I murmured, glancing behind me. “I’m actually staking out in one of the off-limits rooms. The study, actually. It’ll have a nice view of the fireworks, soon. And this way, my parents won’t nag me to put on that fucking suit jacket.”  
  
“A suit?” He paused, and I took advantage of his silence to switch the phone to my other ear. “Wow,” he said. “What I wouldn’t give to see _you_ in a suit, I can hardly believe it…”  
  
I chuckled. “Well if you want to see it so bad, then I’ll put one on sometime, just for you.”  
  
“Aw, just for me?” he teased. “You know I love a man in a suit.”  
  
I laughed, trying to calm the way my nerves lit up at that, my fingers twitching. Not in fear, but in _excitement._  
 _Marco loves a man in a suit! I will_ definitely _wear a suit for him. I fucking love suits.  
  
_ We fell into silence at that, my own thoughts focused on how I might be able to utilize this new weakness of Marco’s to my advantage. How I might be able to seduce him or some shit. How he might let me pin him against a wall, press my lips to his and slide my knee between his legs….  
  
I pulled my phone away from ear to look at the time. It was 11:55 PM.  
  
“It’s almost midnight,” I mumbled, holding the phone between my ear and shoulder so that I could pick at my nails. He hummed in response.  
  
“You kissing anyone when the clock strikes midnight?” I asked.  
He laughed. “You already know I’m not…”  
“…Do you… do you wish you could kiss that guy you like? Tonight?”  
  
He sighed, his breath washing over the receiver in a loud ‘ _whoosh’._  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I really do.”

My hands, close to my face so that I could inspect my nails as I picked at them, instantaneously curled into fists, tense and white-knuckled, and I slammed them down on the balcony railing. I didn’t say anything. My chest felt heavy, and it was hard to swallow, and I couldn’t breathe.  
  
“What about you?”  
“Huh?”  
“Gonna kiss someone?” Marco asked.  
“Ah. Nope. ‘Fraid not.”  
“Really?” he giggled. “You’re telling me that you’ve got champagne and fireworks and tipsy girls over there, and no one to kiss?”  
“No!” I laughed. “I told you, I’m not interested in any of these girls…”  
  
“Okay, okay, I get it,” he sighed. “IS there someone out there you’d _like_ to kiss, then?”  
  
I could’ve lied. I could’ve said no. But instead, in some attempt to get equal footing, in some attempt to alleviate the _anger_ I felt in my chest and stomach and fists, I told the truth. I said, “Yeah.”  
  
“Uh…. You…. There is?”  
  
“Mmmhmmm.”  
  
“Who?” he asked, nearly whispering.  
  
“Really?” I deadpanned through gritted teeth. “You expect me to answer that when you won’t tell _me_ who _you_ like?”  
  
“F-fair enough.”  
  
The world was quiet, both from his end of the conversation and mine. The sky was pitch black, only one or two stars to be seen over the beautiful light-polluted city of Trost. And somewhere out there, Marco was standing, maybe even staring at the same sky, out in Jinae. And somewhere out there was the guy he wanted to kiss at midnight. A guy who wasn’t me.  
He was dumb, and I hated him.  
  
If everything worked out for Marco, I’d have to see his stupid face, kissing _Marco’s_ stupid face, and honestly I’ll probably fucking cry.  
  
“Hey, Marco?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Do you get the feeling that 2014 is gonna suck ass?”  
  
“…Yeah. I do.”  
  
Suddenly, the air was filled with ear-splitting ‘ _pop’_ s and ‘ _bang’_ s, the sky glittering with explosions of color. Outside the door, shouts of _‘Happy New Year’_ rang out, and below the balcony where I stood, my parents’ party guests were pouring out into our garden to enjoy the fireworks. It was 2014.  
  
“Happy New Year, Marco.”  
  
“….Happy New Year, Jean.”  


* * *

  
I knew I was a terrible son. I knew I was a “problem child”. I knew I wasn’t perfect, and I was never going to be. So why couldn’t I just fucking accept it? Why couldn’t I just stop trying, stop telling myself “I’ll get better, I’ll be a good son, my parents will be proud, I’ll make it up to them”? Why did I _fucking_ think I could change!?  
  
“He just doesn’t care!” my mom shrieked. “He wants nothing to do with me, or his father! Does he care about anyone!?”  
  
“He cared enough to major in Business and Finance, just like you wanted.” That was Anita. Her voice was soft, calm.  
  
“I don’t want him to do it because _I_ want to! I want him to do it because _he_ wants to!”  
  
“Then why did you push him into it!?”  
  
“I… I want _him_ to want it.”  
  
“You can’t make your son want things he doesn’t really care for. Ever heard about leading a horse to water?”  
  
The entire house was dark. It couldn’t have been later than 2 AM, and I’d just gotten off the phone with Marco when I’d heard them. Anita and my mother. I don’t even know what Anita was doing there, or why she hadn’t gone home yet, but the two of them were in the kitchen. I’d tip-toed my way through the dark, down the stairs, to find them standing there, my mother with a glass in her hand. And quietly, I stood just outside the kitchen, a sliver of gold spilling from where the door hung open, just a crack.  
  
“I have this whole life set up for him, Anita. His father and I have worked _so hard_ so that he could live an easy life. He can be rich, and married, and _happy_ if he would just…. want it.”  
  
“You need to talk to him about what _he_ wants. What he _really_ wants, not what _you_ want him to be!”  
  
“I can’t! He doesn’t talk to us! Not since he was young, and he pushed us away-“  
  
“Because _you_ tried to push him into doing things he didn’t want to do! Being someone he didn’t want to be! If you do that to kids, if you push them, they push back!”  
  
My mom was silent. I shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, scowling down at the floor between my toes.  
  
“He always was a problem,” she murmured. “From such a young age… those nightmares, his temper… just terrible.” There was a sob, slightly muffled, like she was crying into her cup. A lump formed in my throat.  
  
“I miss him, Anita. I miss my son. I miss my baby. I want him to be happy, but all I ever do is make him angry, make him yell, and I just-“  
Another sob, this one sounding like it was muffled against clothing, and I assumed she was crying into Anita’s shoulder.  
  
“You need to talk to him,” Anita said softly. “You need to _listen._ Don’t ever just assume, actually _listen._ Jean is learning new things about himself every _day_ , and you’re missing it. He’s grown up so much, he’s almost a completely different person.”  
She paused to comfort my mom, her hiccups punctuated by the occasional “there there”s from Anita.  
  
“You have to re-learn your own son. Get to know him.”  
  
“I just feel like he doesn’t _want_ me to get to know him.”  
  
I clenched my jaw, closing my eyes and letting my head bump back against the wall behind me.  
  
“Yeah… I get that feeling too. Come on, let’s get you to bed…”  
  
Before either of them could come out and see me standing there, I bolted, taking the stairs two at a time as I hurried to my room and slammed my door shut. I was raking my hands almost obsessively through my hair, gasping and swallowing past the thick lump in my throat, and in a last-ditch attempt at coping, I leapt over the side of my bed to crouch there on the floor, my knees pulled up to my chin.  
  
It was my usual spot that I went to, ever since I was small; tucked away between my bed and wall, no one ever thought to look there when searching for me, so it was always my favorite hiding spot. No one but Anita knew about my tendency to sit there when I was upset. Anita seemed to be the one who knew the most about me, actually.  
I wrapped my arms around my legs, hunched there, pressing my eyes against my knees until I saw stars and colors. I thought that maybe if I squeezed my eyeballs back, it’d keep the tears at bay.  
  
 _You're not a problem,_ I reminded myself.  _You have one. There's a difference.  
  
_ The tears came anyway.  


* * *

  
For a long while after New Year’s, Marco seemed… aloof. Maybe a better term for it is “out of it”. He had started to worry me…. Like, he didn’t send any smiley emoticons for the longest time, and he would often reply with one-syllable words to my messages. He seemed disinterested, I guess, and it scared me. But no matter how often I asked if he was okay, he would insist that he was perfectly fine.  
“Do you just miss me that much?” I’d asked.  
“Maybe a little,” was his reply.  
And after that, we began sending _‘I miss you’_ and ‘ _I miss you too’_ messages in addition to our ‘ _goodnight’_ ones. I fucking loved it.  
  
On Monday, January 6th, I got this weird as fuck text message:  
  
 **From: Marco  
5  
**  
I tried to ask him to explain, tell me what the fuck that was about, but he wouldn’t. But for a few days after that, he continued to send me a number, once a day, until I realized that day by day, the numbers were decreasing.  
  
 **From: Marco  
2  
  
To: Marco  
youre counting down the days, aren’t you!!!!  
  
From: Marco  
Maybe! ;D  
  
** I could hardly sleep the night after he sent me a one, and I decided to pack my things at midnight because fuck sleep. All morning on January 11th, all I wanted was to race out the door, throw my shit in the care, and speed off to University to wait for Marco, but Anita made me stay to eat breakfast with her. She made me a shitload of food: pancakes, eggs, bacon, waffles, French toast… it was pretty much a breakfast buffet, and I ate almost all of it. After hugging her and waving goodbye, I sped over to Trost University while wearing my brand new hoodie, bouncing in my fucking seat. Because I was gonna get to see Marco.  
  
That morning went by in a blur; after Connie helped me drag my bags back up to our room, Reiner and Bertholdt arrived, and we helped them get settled in as well. Eventually, the entire crew trickled back onto campus until Marco was the last one left, and we all set off to wait outside of Sina for him. I took smug notice of the way Connie grabbed Sasha’s hand as we all trudge through the thick snow.  
  
I sent him text message after text message as we waited, my hands shaking and jittery as I tapped out each message.  
  
 **To: Marco  
you here yet  
  
To: Marco  
you here yet**

**To: Marco  
you here yet**

**To: Marco  
you here yet**

**To: Marco  
you here yet**

**To: Marco  
you here yet**

**From: Marco  
NO!!!!**

**To: Marco  
stop texting and driving, that’s dangerous  
  
** “Yo, Jean, what’s that _thing_ on your _back?_ ” Ymir sneered.  
  
My hands, shoved into the pockets of my hoodie, clenched up into fists.  
  
“Didn’t we fucking tell you to stop-“  
  
“It was a Christmas present from Marco!” I snapped, cutting Eren off. Everyone had gone quiet right then, and I turned to look each of them in the eye. Except no one would. They were all just kinda staring at the ground or away from me. Huffing loudly through my nostrils, I turned back around to find a familiar car slowly cruising through the parking lot. I lit up like a fucking light.  
  
I could see his dark hair, his square jaw, his hands gripping the steering wheel—I bounced on my heels, my heart racing and stuttering my chest as I watched him pull up and park his car. _So close. He’s so close!  
  
_ My palms were sweating as he got out of his car, and I anxiously wiped them on my jeans. Everyone around me started shouting greetings excitedly, telling him how much we all missed him and how great it was to see him again. I couldn’t say anything. Words couldn’t _describe_ how much I had missed him.  
  
His eyes landed on me, and the next thing I knew, he was charging at me. I opened my arms and rushed forward to meet him.  
  
 _“Zero!”_ he shouted, sweeping me up into his arms in a lung-crushing bear hug, twirling me around. I could feel him laughing against me, his breath in my ear, and all I could do was hold on for dear life, cling to him for all I was worth, until he fell over and we fell into a massive pile of snow, him underneath me.  
  
I looked down at him, taking in everything—his wind-blown hair, his flushed cheeks, the happy grin he was wearing as he panted heavily and tried to catch his breath. He was _here._ He was _smiling,_ and his smile was so wide and bright and contagious that I couldn’t help but smile too, laughing, my heart almost hurting at how fucking great it was to be near him again. I could have _cried_ from happiness, honestly.  
  
Marco’s arms wound tight around me and pulled me down against him, and I snuggled against him warmly.  
  
“I missed you so much,” he said. Connie shouted at us to “get a room”. I’d get back at him later.  
“I missed you too,” I rasped into his shoulder, breathing in his scent.  
  
And then I could feel him nuzzling into my neck, his cold nose pressed to my skin, and for several long minutes, we stayed just like that. Lying on the ground, tangled up in one another, and I never wanted it to end. I turned my face over to press my ear to his chest, and I listened carefully to the steady thrum of his beating heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merp, I gotta go work on other stuff, but in the meantime, have this 74 page chapter! Ch8 will arrive eventually..... ha.  
> Thank you so much to any readers that are still around! I hope you enjoyed this chapter because it was a bitch to write, lmao. I know I've been very very MIA in recent months, and I'm terribly sorry, but I hope you all are still enjoying the story, at the very least. uvu

**Works inspired by this one:**

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  * [[Podfic] My Beating Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1741379) by [janzodmb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janzodmb/pseuds/janzodmb)
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